Not Unless You Wish It
by miladylen
Summary: Multi-chapter. AU. Robin, still recovering from the death of his wife, mistakenly steals a lamp from the King and releases the genie trapped inside. A woman. A stunning, captivating, and heartbroken woman. He vows to help her escape her prison and find happiness, not knowing that his own is closer than he realizes. Rating will surely change.
1. Chapter 1

All in all, this heist had gone better than he'd expected.

They all had told him that stealing from the King was not only arrogant but, more so, it was idiotic, bloody suicide. He should have listened. They'd barely escaped with their lives. Barely had time to grab what little they could from the treasury before the room had been submerged by the royal guard.

If there was one thing to take away from this close brush with death is that they needed better weapons… and a better escape plan. Wasn't that always rule number one? Have an escape route all mapped out beforehand?

Truth is, his heart wasn't in it anymore, not like it once was. Back when he had a cause, a purpose. He still did, of course, there will always be people in need and others profiting from their misfortune.

Still, he wasn't used to doing this alone.

He felt a sudden shame for thinking such a thing when he knew he had men who would die for him, some who _had_ died for him. But his men had families, people to go home to when the game was slow, and what did Robin have?

It didn't hurt as much to think of her now, it always would hurt of course, he would never do her the disservice of forgetting even one moment spent with her, including the most painful one. But at least now it wasn't nights of drinking away his sorrows, of falling asleep in a pool of his tears, of his own vomit, usually both.

Time heals all wounds and all that.

Back at their camp, all the men had piled their winnings onto the rich forest ground, by the roaring fire, waiting to assess if they truly had managed to make away with something of value.

Ever since his wife had died, Robin had very little reason to keep some of the riches for himself. He never needed much, having no one to look after or support besides himself and, if there was one thing that kept him from breaking down, from going back to that dark period of his life where nothing and no one could get through to him, it was the look of pure joy and gratitude on the villagers' faces whenever he paid them a visit with undoubtedly more gifts and provisions than they had seen in a lifetime.

But this day, something caught his eye and he couldn't help but claim it for his own before anyone else had the opportunity.

He admired its golden colour, the beautiful, intricate designs carved onto its body depicting thin figures that looked like they could be dancing—and every few faceless bodies he would spot an apple tree, its fruit ripe and bountiful—the small gems, rubies and sapphires, adorning its handle and lid, how they sparkled in the moonlight, how they called out to him like a siren would a wretched sailor.

He knew what it was, of course. When he had run into Will, returned from Wonderland, drowning in countless ounces of alcohol and cursing at his fate, it had taken a good night sleep and several baths in the river before he returned to a semblance of his old self, but the man finally began recounting his journey.

Robin had been reluctant to welcome him back at first, Will's betrayal still too fresh a wound, but he recognized all too well a brokenhearted man when he saw one. Will seemed to have lost all hope and Robin knew he would probably still look exactly like him had not his men taken care of him and knocked some sense into him after his wife's death. Will needed that support now and Robin happened to be in a charitable mood… well, more so than usual.

And so Will began telling him about all the people he had encountered in that strangest of realms. Among them, quite a fair few amount of genies. It seemed Agrabah didn't have a monopoly on the creatures.

Poor souls.

Trapped inside a lamp—he hardly thought they called it _home_ —only coming out to serve whichever master cruelly summoned them.

Rubbing his sleeve on the golden lamp to admire its intricate carvings more clearly, he saw a light purplish smoke come out of it before morphing into an undeniable human form. Spitting profanities, he stared wide-eyed, unbelieving at his stupidity. Why hadn't he thought to ask Will how exactly a genie was summoned? He'd assumed it had to be from some sort of spell or incantation, surely not something as simple as giving the contraption a rub.

He tried fast to regain his composure and begin to apologize profusely to the undoubtedly angry chap for disturbing him—though, come to think of it, maybe he wouldn't mind being given a vacation, a day outside, some fresh air, not having to do anyone's bidding for once.

But _this_ Robin did not expect, standing in front of him, looking him up and down with annoyance in her eyes was… a woman.

He felt silly for being this shocked, surely she wasn't the only female genie in existence, but he hadn't expected to meet one today, especially not one so _stunning_.

She wore a white garb he'd never seen on a woman before. The material was floating around her legs and arms—but tight bands of gold brocade graced her wrists, ankles, and waist—and conveniently low in places he'd rather not dwell on lest she think him presumptuous. She looked so much like an angel.

It took him a minute to realise that she was waiting for him to say something; her eyebrows were raised unceremoniously high, her hands were resting on her hips, and her head was tilted to the side waiting impatiently for him to voice his desires. What a sight he must have looked, still gaping at her and quite unable to recall his own name.

With a loud, exasperated sigh, she began, "Good evening, oh gracious lord," at this, he caught her eyes rolling, "I am the genie of the lamp. I am here to grant your wishes, three in total. _But_ , take caution," her mocking eyes warned, "for I can do much, but not all. I cannot resurrect the dead, I cannot make someone fall in love, and lastly, I cannot change the past. Anything else, ask and it shall be yours."

"I… I don't wish for anything."

 _Liar_ , his mind yelled. How many sleepless nights had he wished, prayed to whatever gods there were to bring his wife back, to give him a semblance of his life back.

"Every man wishes for something. Gold, power, glory, women," she listed, unimpressed at the predictability of men. "I can make a man the richest in all the lands. I can grant him estates, build him castles and lavish gardens. I can give a man all the strength and courage to be the fiercest soldier on the battlefield. I can make him so shrines and temples will one day be built in his honor. I can transform a man into the most famous of lovers, can have courtesans fanning at his feet."

Robin found it hard to believe someone, man or woman, could glance upon this angel's delicate features—peaking from beneath the scowl that hadn't left her face since he'd mistakenly summoned her—and wish for anyone else to be eternally devoted to him.

"I must apologize. I feel rather foolish, but I didn't intend to call upon you." Seeing the disbelief in her eyes, thinking this to be a trick, he felt compelled to reassure her, to change her already lousy opinion of him. _Brilliant, Robin, just brilliant, you've barely said a word and she already wishes to chuck you into the fire._ "I stumbled upon your lamp and I…"

"You _stole_ my lamp, you mean," she replied triumphant, believing to have caught him in a lie, to have exposed him for the scoundrel she no doubt thought he was. "I've been in King Leopold's keeping for years," she said her dainty fingers grasping at her clothing and digging where they'd lowered to her thighs, her gaze gone from irritated to livid (though her voice had managed to remain soft and controlled as if that fact had no effect upon her and, perhaps to anyone less scrutinizing than he, she'd be convincing), "he'd never willingly give me up."

"You're right. I did steal it." She seemed surprised at his honesty. Good. Perhaps he still had a chance to salvage her first impression of him. "But would you believe I didn't know what it was I was stealing?" Before she had a chance to answer, he took a step closer to her, "And, if I'm not mistaken, you don't seem too saddened at the thought of no longer being the King's possession."

Any hint of her beginning to… not _trust_ him exactly (he still had a long way to go to achieve that), but to let go of her suspicions at least, evaporated in an instant.

"A prison is a prison. The jailer may change, but that never does."

"You're not a prisoner here," Robin replied firmly.

"Aren't I? I'm here because you wish it and only so long as you wish it. And then, I'll go back whence you released me from or, worse, I'll be placed into the custody of someone else."

Had this always been her fate? Being handed over by one master to another, forced to do as they asked?

It didn't seem like much of a life. It wasn't a life at all. And by her rigid stance, her immediate distrust of him, and the hopelessness now plainly visible in her eyes, Robin guessed her encounters with her former masters had been less than pleasant.

He was angry, furious to think of what this woman must have endured.

More importantly, he was desperate to ensure she would never have to face anything like that again. "I don't want to make a wish… let alone three. I don't _have_ to. I could never utter a word and you wouldn't have to answer to anyone. You could be free."

She laughed at his naive notion, and it would have been such a sweet sound, capable of soothing even his aching heart, had it not been for her eyes which held such sorrow and resignation, "I'm afraid that is not how it works, dear. You must make three wishes and I must grant them. That's the way it's always been."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then I wouldn't be free, would I? I'd be here. Always."

He ignored the treacherous voice in his head telling him that, as long as he kept from making a wish, she would have to remain by his side.

He felt ashamed for thinking such things, for willingly considering keeping this beautiful— _caged_ —woman for his own, realising with disgust that that made him no better than all the other bastards who'd dared to take advantage of her. No, he didn't wantto keep her here.

 _Not unless she wishes it_.

But neither did he want her at the mercy of a lesser man than he.

He had only just met her, mere moments ago, and yet he already dreaded being parted from her. He wanted to help her. Call it chivalry, call it the memory of his former self coming to the surface and being compelled to rescue someone in need or some inexplicable pull he felt towards her but, whatever it was, he couldn't stand the thought of her being unhappy.

He himself had given up hope that he would ever be as happy as he had been with Marian, but this woman, whose name he still longed to hear, maybe he could help _her_ find what had been lost to him.


	2. Chapter 2

They moved closer to the fire, to rejoin the rest of his group, his men to lead, she deduced, by the way they behaved around him. He was part of them, that much was clear, but he earned looks of respect that she didn't see directed at anybody else.

The men were all staring at her. Gods, they looked just like him.

Her new master.

All gobsmacked, mouths open, chins low and eyes bulging. Unsurprising, by the looks of them, they probably hadn't been around many women. A woman could survive the smell of forest for so long before going out of her wits.

He gestured towards her then, his hand close, instinctively going to touch her elbow, she guessed, before stopping at the last second to only hang in the air awkwardly, as a manner of introducing her to the rest.

"This is..."

He waited for her to speak, to complete his thought, but he hadn't earned that knowledge yet, had he?

She simply stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

He seemed exasperated. Good. She despised that look she'd seen before. Pity. She had no need for it and certainly didn't welcome it. Better for him to hate her. She was used to that. She could manage that.

"This _lovely_ lady," he said through gritted teeth (but his eyes, flicking from her head down to her feet, revealed the truthfulness of his words) "will be staying with us for a few days."

He then told her the names of all his companions. As if she could be bothered to remember all that.

He offered her food. She refused.

He offered her a change of clothes, something warmer for the night. She refused.

He offered her a seat on his log by the fire. She refused.

Until, at long last, he led her towards an occupied tent and let her rest, without farewell or wishes for a peaceful slumber, perhaps realizing the unlikelihood of that occurring.

She sat on the cot, not the most luxurious of accommodations, not what Leopold had provided her. Not that she would trade places at this moment.

She wouldn't, right?

This man, this unwashed, forest-smelling man, for all his incessant scrutinizing and quiet observations, didn't seem the threatening kind. He could be, she had no doubt, he probably _had_ to be on occasion. But, as much as she feared admitting it, she believed he didn't mean her any harm.

 _Stupid girl_.

How many times had she believed that only to be terribly mistaken? Would this time be any different?

.

.

.

She woke up to light streaming through the thin tent fabric and to the birds' morning chorale. However fleeting her sleep had been, she was grateful for mornings like this. How many centuries had passed since she'd had one so beautiful? Since she'd been home.

But she still remembered soft beds in underground castles with hammer-beam roofs; the top windows above ground and perpetually open to allow the sounds of rushing springs and lively fountains. She missed the blissful uncertainty of the days ahead, no places to be or people to answer to, nothing but possibilities on the horizon.

She heard footsteps then, light but intentionally discernible, so as to alert her of his presence. A warning. _No_ , not a warning, but a courtesy. A kindness.

"Milady, could I step inside for a moment?" the man who'd summoned her asked uncertainly, probably dreading her ire this early in the day.

She answered with a soft growl, giving him permission to enter, but clearly letting him know that she wouldn't appreciate any lingering.

"I brought you some clothes. Use them, don't use them, as you will. But if you mean to wash those," he gestured to her garb, "you probably need something meanwhile, however unworthy of you."

She remained silent, not wanting to undermine his efforts by pointing out her magical abilities. As if something so mundane as clothes could give her so much trouble.

(Why exactly did she give a second thought to the man's—the stranger's—feelings?)

But a thank you he certainly wouldn't get.

Realising he wasn't about to get any reply out of her, he placed what looked like light brown breeches, a white undershirt, and a flimsy green vest on the bed.

"Breakfast will be waiting for you when you're ready," he said sparing one last glance at her, at her hair,—she supposed it looked like a bird's nest and, really, couldn't he have allowed her a bit more time to fully wake-up?—before turning to leave.

"Wait." She rose from her bed, took his hand (felt his sharp intake of breath), opened his palm, and placed three small ruby stones in its crook. He looked up in question. "Your wishes."

He looked intently at them, then at the ground, closed his hand over the stones, effectively releasing her hold, and finally left without another word.

She left the clothes, unwrapped, on the cot. Her white garb still in place, but the pant legs transformed into a loose skirt, up to her knees, the humidity something she was desperate to avoid. The golden bands around her ankles were now resting on skin instead of fabric. Never to be removed.

She combed and braided her hair, placed it over her shoulder and down, the ends caressing her breast, and exited her tent—no, not hers, nothing is ever hers—before reluctantly joining the thief sitting on a log with a bowl of stew in one hand and another placed beside him waiting for her to claim it. Sneaky.

He looked up at her as she approached, tried not to notice her bare lower legs. Was that disappointment she saw when he spied her braid?

"Am I obligated to attend meals by your side?"

He seemed shocked. Shocked at her thinking such a thing or… shocked that he'd unwittingly led her to believe that?

How frustrating, she had no idea what to make of him, she was usually so apt at reading people (and not liking what she uncovered), but this man kept surprising her and he seemed sincere enough, but she couldn't be so stupid as to let her guard down after only one day of meeting him.

"No. No! I simply wanted to talk." He sighed loudly, as if he'd been rehearsing this. She half-smiled thinking of him struggling with words when in her presence. "You're to remain here for the foreseeable future. I believe we could get along. I think we should try. I don't want you to be unhappy here."

After a long moment of considering his offer, her staring at him and him staring back, not in a defiant but in a kind manner, trying to convince her that she could trust him, she nodded slightly and took her seat, careful not to be too close to him.

She supposed she was grateful for the hot meal, though not the richest she'd ever tasted. The loud noises originating in her stomach certainly spoke of her approval. She blushed to think of the man beside her— _Robin_ , she heard one of the men greet him, while only acknowledging her with a nod—hearing those rather undignified sounds, but when she chanced a glance at him, he was focused on his own bowl. Too focused. Trying intently not to look at her. Or talk to her. Is this how he proposed they try and get along?

Had he nothing to say to her or was he respectfully waiting for her to start? She had a feeling it was the latter.

"Whom do the clothes belong to?" she clumsily asked, referring to his earlier offering, trying to start a conversation. And she was genuinely curious for, as far as she knew, no other women resided in the camp. The clothes could have been stolen, now that she thought about it, she wouldn't put it past him.

"My wife," he answered. "She died two years ago." She felt herself sinking below ground, her first desire to disappear and run far away from any knowledge of his pain. She had enough of her own.

But something kept her rooted in place, wanting this man to have someone who knew just what he had been through. She had never had anyone like that. She wouldn't wish such loneliness on even her worst enemy.

And he was far from that.

She sensed from his frown that he wanted to say more, and ultimately deciding that she would lend an ear, that she was strong enough to handle it, she placed a warm hand on his bare forearm in encouragement. He stared at her thumb gently running back and forth over a patch of light freckles and then looked up into her eyes, allowing her to see his unshed tears. "She was pregnant."

"I'm— I'm so sorry. For both of your losses." She looked at him uncertainly, not knowing if she would be making things worse, but feeling the need to squash any false hope he may have, "but… you know it is not in my power to bring back the dead. Trust me, I've tried. More times than I'd care to admit. Immortality comes at a high price after all."

She could see plainly he wanted to ask, to know more (to know everything) about her and her past and how, however insane it may be, two strangers seemingly at odds could have more in common than they first conceived.

"The truly terrible thing is, I don't know _how_ she died. She was captured during one of our jobs. Her captors demanded ransoms; riches we'd stolen, supplies of food, anything to keep the villagers from getting any respite. That's how it started anyway. Before long, they had me stealing from the starving instead of the privileged. I'm ashamed to admit how long I agreed to their demands. But… anything to keep her alive." His tears had now left wet tracks on his cheeks and were resting on his chin. "She died anyway," he sobbed before realising his outburst and rolling down his sleeve on his right forearm (not the one she still had her hand on) to dab his face free of tears. "They sent me her body after I'd left a family of six without any rations."

"And you want to know how she died?"

"I know it's impossible, but I can't help but wonder. Was it quick? Did she suffer? I think I would rather know than live out the rest of my life with nothing for an answer but my darkest imaginings."

She removed her hand from his arm, placed her unfinished bowl of stew on the ground (watching him do the same from the corner of her eye), took hold of both of his hands, making sure she had his undivided attention and praying she wouldn't regret this, and whispered, "It's not impossible."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone, thanks so much for reading and reviewing :) Now I am aware that this is mostly focused on Robin and his backstory, but I figure Regina is much less trusting and it's gonna take awhile before she reveals more of her past... but we will get there!**

* * *

Two days had passed since they last talked, since he opened up to this stranger about his deepest and darkest sorrow. Not only about losing his wife and unborn child, but also about his greatest shame, the guilt of what he'd done that he always carried, his true reason for not giving up his thieving ways. Not until he'd made sure all the villagers in Sherwood were properly sheltered and fed, starting with the ones he wronged most. Though they remained unaware. Who would suspect the honourable Prince of Thieves of stealing from them when he'd been their greatest ally and protector for years? Bile rose up his throat at the thought that he could have deceived them in such a way, that they still treated him like a hero when he was anything but.

She came out of her assigned tent, still not wearing his late wife's clothing, he noticed, and it made his heart swell knowing she refused not out of disgust or stubbornness (as wouldn't have been surprising), but out of respect. It made him wish once again, a thought he kept silent, that she could remain among them. It made him wish, naively perhaps, that she would want the same.

The men had gotten used to her presence, though, unlike them, she still hadn't melted into the camp's scenery. He wasn't sure he wanted her to. She could change her clothes eventually, become accustomed to their ways, let her guard down somewhat, but a woman like her, beautiful and poised, with an air of mystery and regal pride should always be admired, whatever crowd she found herself amongst.

She approached him, less hesitant than she had been only a couple of days ago, he was pleased to see, and took her place on _their_ log, as he found himself referring to it, not a welcome or a wish for small talk before she suddenly asked him, "I need something belonging to your wife's abductors."

He started at her, astonished, "If I had managed to get close enough to own such an item, do you think they'd still be alive?"

"So you never found them?" she asked, looking doubtful.

"You don't think I tried?" he asked, angrier than he should have allowed himself to be around someone who'd offered to help him. "You don't think I spent all my days and all my nights trying to save Marian?"

"Of course you did all you could, I'd never question that," she replied firmly, but gently, her eyes locked on his for the first time that morning so as not to leave any doubt as to her statement. "I meant after she died, did you not try and go after them?"

"I did. For a time," he admitted, remembering how strong his thirst for revenge had been before his men had set him on the right path once again.

"But then you stopped seeking revenge. Why?"

"One of my men told me one day, quite harshly, that I'd failed the people for far too long while Marian was a prisoner. I couldn't keep failing them."

"So you just gave up?" she accused, incredulous and maybe a little envious of his ability to do so. _Strange_ , he thought.

"Those men took the most important person to me. Not only that, but they made me go back on everything I had once stood for. They made me betray who I was. I wasn't going to let them take any more." He stood by his decision; he was needed here, he owned it to the people to stay here. Going after his wife's captors would only result in dragging him into a dark abyss he feared he wouldn't be able to recover from. "But as much as I want to make amends for what I did… it's not enough. I don't… I don't feel such joy as I once did."

"You don't feel like you're doing enough to make things right."

He nodded. "And I miss her. I miss her every day."

"Are you sure you want this? Seeing how she died? You can't ever unsee that."

"I want this. That's my wish," he replied without hesitation as he returned to her one of the small rubies.

She nodded solemnly. "I still need a way to find those who hurt Marian"

"Why? I made my wish, can't you just… _show_ me what happened?"

"I'm a genie, not some clairvoyant, spouting made-up prophecies and walking around with my crystal ball that can hypnotize any idiot into believing that what he's seeing is real. Because you made a wish, I am bound to grant it to you but it's not as easy as a snap of my fingers. Magic doesn't work like that. It has rules," she explained with eyes rolling but a small smile gracing her lips.

He'd never seen her smile before and gods what a sight it was! He thought if he ever had the privilege to see her truly smile, not simply as a way to reassure him that she hadn't meant to be insensitive, he'd never delight in seeing anything else when he closed his eyes.

Seemingly to emphasize her point, she showed him what had been resting in her lap and he had failed to notice until now (distracted as he was by her presence alone).

"A dreamcatcher? Believe me, I've tried many a remedy to rid my mind of nightmares."

"A dreamcatcher has many purposes. This can't summon a memory all by itself, but it can capture it. It can only allow us to see through the eyes of another. That's why we need someone who witnessed her death."

"Well, it's useless then," he said carelessly, not wanting to undermine her efforts, but upset that yet another glimmer of hope had been smothered before it could fully glow.

"You said her body was returned to you. Did she have anything on her? Anything that wasn't there when she was taken?"

Robin closed his eyes, remembering the day he'd found her (as if he could ever forget). Her clothes were blood stained and her face seemed tired, almost sick, not the peaceful look people always said the dead wore. "She was wrapped in a cloak of some sort," he said, choking back tears. "I kept it."

"Robin," she started gently — how had she learned his name, when he was still unaware of hers? — "I need that cloak. Trust me, you'll find out the truth soon enough."

Of course, he trusted her.

As soon as he brought her the wine-colored cloak, she sat on the log surrounded by vials and pots, some simmering on the fire, others by her feet, mixes of a thousand colors and consistencies.

"I'm making a tracking potion," she answered his questioning gaze. "If this cloak belonged to the captors, it should lead us right to them."

"And then…?"

"And then, all I'll have to do is paralyze them," she explained with a wave of her fingers — _magic_ , of course — "and use the dreamcatcher to steal their memories. If we're lucky, in a day or two, we'll have our answers."

She looked intently at him, silently asking him if he still wanted to go through with the plan (begging him to reconsider, he suspected). But his mind was made up, he was closer than he'd ever been to finding out what had really happened, and he couldn't turn back now.

They had targeted Marian because she had made the unfortunate mistake to marry him. Her death was his fault. He could do right by the villagers, but he would never be able to do right by her. All he could do now was pray she hadn't suffered. He needed to learn the truth.

He quieted the voice in his head telling him he was only seeking truths to ease a guilty mind. That wasn't — couldn't — be true. Could it?

.

.

.

The next day, they were ready to leave. Just the two of them. Robin hadn't told his men about his wish (or the fact that they were harbouring a genie) lest they tried to talk him out of it.

Robin transported the cloak, dreamcatcher, and a vial of potion in his satchel, along with his bow and quiver strapped to his back and a knife hidden in his boot. She had finally changed out of her white garments into dark brown trousers and a high collared light blue coat.

He heard the men whispering, all curious to know where they were headed, placing bets on whether they would come back besotted with each other and inseparable. He couldn't blame them for they hadn't failed to remark upon his wide-eyed, infatuated look whenever she was near, no matter how often he reminded them that his heart was closed off.

She made him light-headed and tongue-tied, made his palms sticky from sweat and his body aware of her every movement. But whenever he even so much as entertained the possibility of there being _something_ between them, his heart stropped beating for a few moments and broke all over again.

Once they were far enough away from his camp, Robin removed the cloak from his satchel and she poured the potion on the fabric which started to glow and lead them down the forest path, floating as though an enchanted carpet.

They followed the cloak well into the night until, at long last, it stopped in front of a clearing. They couldn't see anything, no tents or wooden shacks, but Robin knew they could very well be hidden from untrained eyes by the trees and foliage. They stayed in the shadows, no candles burning or magical light with them so whoever was in there could be caught unawares.

Robin was used to scope for traps, asses and plan before heading into a mission. But, right now, all he wanted to do was run into the heart of the clearing, screaming and demanding they come out and face him. She must have sensed his impatience for she had a fierce grip on his arm, reminding him of what she'd told him on the way. The men had to be within her sight for her to freeze their forms to the ground.

He didn't care much for that. They could try and run, he had plenty of arrows and his bow never missed its mark. Again, she had looked at him, exasperated, _they have to be alive in order to catch their memories._

Surely, an arrow to the leg would do then.

(She'd scolded him for that too.)

He listened intently, trying to detect any hint of human life, waiting for them to make a mistake and reveal themselves. But the forest was eerily silent, until he realized, "No one's here."

"They have to be," she insisted.

"Do you see anything? Or hear anything?"

"No… but the potion led us here," she said, slowly as if she were talking to an idiot. It made him angry because she was right, he was an idiot to insist on this fool's errand.

"Then it's wrong."

"It's never wrong!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

* * *

Her magic couldn't have failed.

"There must be some explanation," she continued to affirm. It should have worked.

When she had been on the run, hiding from humans, trying to escape capture, her mother had taught her all manner of spells and protective enchantments to conceal whereabouts and muffle sounds. No wonder Robin had never been able to track them, she finally understood, they'd hidden in plain sight, masked by magic. Even his wife's screams, no matter how loud, wouldn't have reached him.

"They must have magic. Powerful magic," she told him.

"Isn't yours stronger?"

"Of course it is!" she answered, affronted, before remembering he'd just met her. He hadn't seen her use her magic to control the weather and tides, to win battles, and protect her kingdom.

She closed her eyes, raised her hands towards the midnight sky, and concentrated on breaking the invisible shield, making the unseen appear before their eyes. She could feel the tips of her fingers burning, the rest of her body growing cold until she began shaking and her stomach ached to be emptied, to be rid of the acid eating away at her from too much power leaving her body.

She felt rough, warm hands on her arms, much too hot on her icy limbs, hurting her more than they would, any other time, offer comfort. But when she stopped, she sunk back into his embrace and welcomed the way his body was relocating its heat into her own and soothing her damp, shivering skin.

When she finally opened her eyes, she knew from his shocked expression — his eyes never having left her — that they were now glowing purple, as they did when she abused her power. _Even a genie's magic cannot be limitless,_ her mentor used to always say.

Robin was scared, she could plainly see, though he kept rubbing his hands on her arms, on her back, and once at her temple, brushing her wet hair away. Not scared of her, but _for_ her.

She smiled slightly, a wisp of a thing, her face cracking from the exertion, to let him know she would be alright. Just a couple more minutes and she would be alright.

Robin kept his eye firmly on her, not appearing to notice that she had succeeded and a small camp had materialized, as if from nowhere, just beyond the row of trees they were hiding behind.

Once she had regained her strength, they both turned towards the small fire and the one man sitting in front of it. He looked to be roasting some kind of animal, no one else in sight or weapons around — why would they need weapons with magic on their side? — save for the knife he had no doubt used to skin the poor beast. This would be easier than she had previously thought. One man against the two of them. She waited for her magic to fully return, praying it would before the rest of his companions came back.

But it seemed Robin had other ideas. Seeing she had recovered enough to no longer need his support, he lunged into the camp, discarding his bow and throwing himself on the man too surprised to react in time. She saw them struggle to the ground, Robin punching the man wherever he could reach until the latter got away long enough to grab his knife from beside the fire.

Regina was moving closer, hoping for her strength to come back long enough to stop them, when Robin met the man's knife with his own. _Where did that come from?_ She saw him cut the man in several places on his arms and shoulders and one especially painful one — from the man's scream — on his leg. But his opponent was rather skilled himself and managed a nasty cut on Robin's jaw that had Regina impulsively release magic that paralyzed them both.

"What the hell?" she screamed, marching — stumbling — towards Robin, releasing him from her spell only for her magic to grab him tightly by the collar and throw him on the ground behind her, allowing her to stand in between the two men. "Why couldn't you wait?"

"Wait? For what, for you to recover only to go into another trance after you'd have used your magic on him?" he yelled.

"That wouldn't have happened," she tried to explain, but the tremor in her legs made it hard to stand and she feared passing out before they had a chance to get what they came for.

"No?" he asked, disbelieving, his voice calmer but still dripping with anger. "Even if your paralyzing spell required much less energy, I've been in enough dangerous situations to know that the simplest tasks can take their toll on you when you've already tired yourself out. I wasn't willing to risk it!"

"As if you would have let me do what we _agreed_ to had I not needed so much magic to take down the shield?" As she began saying it, she realized she had been naïve to think it could have gone differently. "You never had any intention to stay away, did you?"

"Why should I? These men took _everything_ from me!" he shouted.

"Because you are better than them!"

"So I should let them walk free? We come here, see his memories," he gestured with disdain in the direction of the still immobilized man who hadn't uttered a word but started at them with pain and fear in his eyes, "see what they did to my wife, watch how they _killed_ her, and then just let him go?"

"We can bring him to the sheriff, have him imprisoned so he can never hurt anyone again. But he isn't worth you forsaking your every vow. Aren't you someone who promised to always protect others, to do was is right and just?"

"I am someone who promised to never let people with power take advantage of those without! I _steal_ for a living. So don't tell me that I am good and that this isn't what I do. This is exactly what I do. Take from those who'd dare take from us."

"No. No! Stealing is one thing, but murder? That's something you can't recover from, Robin. It will follow you for the rest of your life. You feel guilty for what you did to those villagers? It's nothing compared to how you'll feel if you do this."

She saw him turning away from her, refusing to let her words change his mind. She sank to the ground in front of him, her knees touching his and her hands on his face, seeing his tears for the first time, "You told me you wouldn't let them take any more from you, you told me you have to remain true to who you are. This isn't who you are," she whispered. " _Please_ , Robin"

* * *

He felt her fingers stroking his cheeks, her eyes imploring him to listen to her.

He couldn't bring Marian back. Even if, for a moment, he would feel satisfaction at ending this murderer's miserable life, it wouldn't bring her back. His darling wife, his darling wife who had made him who he was, who had shown him how much good he could do, how much people depended on him.

He wasn't like those men. He would never be like them.

 _Please, Robin._

He nodded before crashing into her, his tears on her shoulder, his arms on her back, holding on for fear he might crumble were she not here.

Surprisingly, she didn't push him away, but hugged him back, running her fingers through his hair and shushing his cries as she would a small child. After several moments, he raised his head and watched with shame as she dried his tears with her thumbs. She pulled him up gently, begging him with her eyes to stay where he was while she went to retrieve his bag.

When she came back, with the dreamcatcher in hand, he followed her towards his wife's captor who had a much-too-pleased look on his face. It made him want to punch it out of him, but barely had he had time to formulate the thought, that Regina struck him so hard the bastard fell on his side, face first. Before he could get up, Regina paralyzed him again and Robin wanted to tell her to stop using magic if it hurt her, but a part of him couldn't help but be glad.

She took the dreamcatcher and placed it on the man's forehead. Robin watched it shimmer golden before an image appeared in its center and revealed his wife. His wife crying and screaming and trying to escape the men's hold. He recognized the man in front of them, but the image held two more.

His Marian had been a fighter, she had been brave and fierce, but now he saw her desperately begging, _don't hurt— please, don't—_

He couldn't bear to look anymore. He turned away, but he couldn't silence her screams and he stumbled onto a log, puking straight above the fire and on the dead animal. _Don't hurt him._

"Stop it. Stop—"

"Robin, listen."

"No, no, no," he repeated, his eyes closed and his hands uselessly covering his ears. "I can't listen anymore. Please."

"Robin," she grabbed his hand away from his ear and brought him back beside her and put her hand on his face like before, effectively grounding him, "don't look, just… keep your eyes closed. Robin, concentrate. You have the ear of a master thief, a hunter. _Listen_."

Why did she want him to listen? All he could hear was his wife's pain, objects falling to the ground from her struggles, men cursing at her resistance, and the slash of a knife putting an end to her screams and to her life. He heard her body falling, hitting the forest leaves and branches with a thud, men's footsteps walking again, and he heard… cries.

Once soft, but now loud, shrieking cries.

A babe's cries.

* * *

 **Let me know what you think, please :)**


	4. Chapter 4

She kept calling his name, moving one hand up his arm, the other over his closed eyelids, trying to get him to come back from whatever pit he'd pushed himself in, running amongst shadows and repressed memories trying to resurface. She felt him battling with them, forcing them further and further into the abyss, as he'd no doubt done for the last couple of years, unable to believe a long lost dream hadn't disappeared quite as much as he'd thought.

When all the world did was take, deceive and break its promises, it was nearly impossible to trust it wouldn't do so again.

She begged him to open his eyes, her magic on the man still on the ground was weakening, and they'd lingered enough as it was. He did at last, looked at her with red-rimmed eyes and she found herself fighting to hold back her own tears. The last thing he needed was both of them breaking down and losing any chance they might have to discover the whereabouts of his child.

Robin began nodding ever so slowly, letting her know he was ready for what came next, though she sensed she'd better handle the questioning from now on.

She turned towards the man, a snarl clearly visible on her lips (she always was terrible at hiding her anger, at supressing a rage that, no matter how justified, she couldn't act on), ready to use whatever power still flowed through her veins, consequences be damned, to get answers. His sly grin and triumphant glare stopped her in her tracks.

 _Too late._

In the distance, she heard two figures running towards them and, as she was evaluating the amount of magic it would take to stop an impending attack, Robin sprang into action, his survival instinct kicking in, and grabbed both his bow and arrows, shielding her with his body and ready to shoot.

He wasn't aiming to kill, she noticed, for she'd heard enough in his camp to know his aim was ever true and his arrow in one of the attackers' leg was proof of his intent. The man went crumpling among the leaves and Robin turned to do the same with his companion, but his arrow didn't lend on another leg, but rather on a giant and furry paw, which did nothing to stop the creature from advancing towards them at a faster pace than before.

From Robin's panicked look, she deduced he'd never encountered a werewolf before and his incessant shooting did nothing as all the wolf did was duck with surprising agility every one of his arrows.

Regina called on her magic then to try and stop the beast (while ignoring Robin's reproachful look); moved trees to block its path, set leaves on fire under its paws, sent rocks flying through the air towards its head. She couldn't stop it, she very well knew she'd never be able to injure it enough, but she slowed it down just enough for Robin to trace a clear path and lend his last arrow into the wolf, into what she guessed to be a man's shoulder underneath the animal's pelt.

True enough, the pile of grey fur transformed into a muscled man who she could hear growling and coughing, his nails digging into the earth, trying to return to his animal form, but unable to due to the injury Robin had inflicted. She felt a surge of pleasure deriving from the man's pain and walked towards him proudly, batting Robin's hand away when she felt it on her back. She needed neither comfort nor encouragement.

With her magic trying to soar away, she summoned its last sparks and returned Robin's arrows from the ground back into his quiver, ready to use should the men prove to be uncooperative.

Robin took one arrow and, stepping in front of her, pointed it at the man's forehead.

"Where's my child?" he spit.

The man laughed. "Why would I tell you? Because you'll kill me if I don't? I doubt that."

Regina pushed Robin aside and grabbed the arrow lodged into the man's shoulder, giving it a harsh pull, the tip ripping into his skin and the blood flowing freely down his shirt. She grabbed his collar and made sure he could see into her coal-black eyes. Magic recognized magic, spoke to it in its own secret language, and she prayed she was conveying just how much power she held, power he could never dream of measuring up to.

" _He_ may be too honourable to kill you," she gestured towards Robin, "but I'm not," she threatened.

"Milady—"

"If you don't tell us where he is, I will tear your limbs apart and roast you until you're scorched and your unsuspecting friends won't be able to tell the difference," she continued, ignoring Robin's faint warning. "The wolf is the one who will get eaten in your story."

The man, despite his discernible gulp, was still defiant and maddeningly quiet until his wound suddenly opened wider and burned so harshly he felt fumes clouding his mind (though no fire had been ignited). He let out a pained scream, drowning out Robin's protests and Regina's shouts that he just leave her be.

She turned her eyes away from the man, turned back to a shocked Robin who looked at her exactly how she had previously feared he would. He was scared of her. Of what she could do. She had told him not to let his anger win and that was precisely what she'd allowed her own to do.

She told herself that she never intended to kill the man, just to scare him. But would she really have been able to stop herself had she not succeeded in convincing him to help them? Gods, she hoped so.

She stepped out of Robin's arms — for all his terror, he hadn't let go of her since she'd welcomed his embrace after turning away from what she'd done. Robin had wanted to stop her, more for her own sake than the man's, she suspected, and when she'd finally turned around to shut him up, the look in his eyes had frozen her. She'd felt cold again, like waking up from a bucket of iced water and instantly forgetting a most captivating dream. Or nightmare. — because she hadn't wanted his comfort before and she certainly didn't deserve it now that she did.

"Well?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"I left the child in the care of my pack's leader," the shape-shifter said.

"And where does he live?"

" _She_ lives in the village of Daggerhorn," he answered.

"Am I supposed to just ask the village crier where the she-wolf resides?"

"No!" he panicked. Werewolves were as hunted as genies once had been. "You can ask for Widow Lucas. Anyone will direct you to her cottage… and to your son," he said looking at Robin, who seemed too stunned to retort, conflicted about how he should feel, elated that he had a son and the chance to reunite with him soon or horrified that he'd been kept away from him for over two years. Too stunned to realise he should be angry that he was forced to feel both emotions at the same time.

She nodded before informing Robin she'd be taking all of them to the sheriff of the closest town.

"With your magic?" he asked, outraged. "You can't!" he whispered, making sure the man couldn't hear.

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do," she said. How dare he? He knew nothing of magic, of _her_ magic and the things it could accomplish, the pinnacles it could reach.

"Stop! This isn't about me not having faith in your abilities. This is about you hurting yourself further. I won't allow it."

"You _will_ allow it because that is the only way to get to your boy. We can't carry them and unless you want to leave them here and risk them coming after your family, I don't have a choice."

"Wait," he pleaded gently. She then watched him go into one of the tents. She kept an eye on the shape-shifter, who she knew would want nothing more than to exact vengeance on her, and shamelessly hoped he was still in too much pain to formulate a proper plan at the moment, not before he would be behind bars, left only with hatred and no regrets, except perhaps that he hadn't been able to stop her.

Robin walked out of the tent carrying a thin bit of parchment in his hand, which he entrusted her to magic away along with the three men.

"No need for you to transport the two of us as well," he said. "Just leave them at the sheriff's door."

She nodded. "Give me your hand," she instructed him. "Picture the location of the sheriff's manor. Its shape, how big it is, what color, what the surrounding forest looks like. If you can see it well enough, I will too."

In a cloud of purple smoke, the three men vanished, the one right in front of them along with the paralyzed one by the fire and the injured one several steps away who had remained on all fours with an arrow in his leg and hadn't dared to move once he saw how his friend, much stronger than he, had been brought down.

"What makes you so sure the sheriff will arrest them?" she asked once they were alone.

"They killed Marian. Trust me, the sheriff wants to punish them too. Perhaps just as much as I do." If the sheriff wanted those men brought to justice so desperately, one note from Robin would be sufficient evidence in his eyes.

"We should get going," she said.

"Not a chance." Before she could protest, he answered, "You have exhausted yourself more than enough for one day. It is night, we will rest and tomorrow we can finally depart this place."

He had a point, gods knew all she wanted at this moment was to lie down and not have to get back up for a few more hours.

"I suppose we need the daylight to navigate our way through the Infinite Forest," she conceded.

"Exactly," he smirked, — a poor attempt at a genuine smile — not fooled by her attempts to hide how tired she truly was.

She went into a tent to retrieve two blankets and came out to find Robin staring into the fire. When she handed him the warm fur, he barely acknowledged her presence and stayed seated on the small log. She felt her eyelids dropping and her limbs aching and, as she laid down to rest, she knew he wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

.

.

.

She woke up later than she had intended. Her dreams no longer woke her in the middle of the night, gasping and unable to fall back asleep. Now, centuries later, they were a constant companion, almost a comfort, an assurance that she would never forget.

She still dreamt of piercing screams, dark rain and ash-covered soil, fingers gripping blackened hearts, and arms embracing death. But she also dreamt of horse races, midnight meals on stable floors, and a yellow gold ring.

She dreamt of fiery red hair, almost blinding beneath the sun, and soothing words on stormy nights.

She dreamt of games of hide-and-seek, feeding ducks and majestic swans, and playing with wooden swords, fighting an imaginary war they never conceived would become reality.

And she dreamt of a sultry cave full of silver treasures, baths in hot, almost scorching, water and sharp nails on her skin.

She stretched her legs, previously curled into her middle so as to fit under the small blanket — though she had been unreasonably hot during the night, judging by how stuck her clothes were to her damp skin, which she attributed to Robin's efforts of keeping the fire burning all through her dreams — raised her arms above her head, heard cracks emanating from her shoulders, elbows, and neck, stifled a yawn when she saw Robin watching her. He had certainly been doing it for quite a while, though not impatiently and without any intention of waking her up.

He looked rather worried. Still considering the possibility that she hadn't yet regained all of her strength?

Perhaps she hadn't. But Daggerhorn was a ways away and she would in the number of days it would take to cross the forest. She told him as much, insisted she was well and ready to begin their journey. But he still looked troubled.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said. "I know I said hurting them wasn't worth it, but… it's a different thing to think it than it is to come face to face with your one chance for revenge. You start thinking what you're doing is justice. Thank you for stopping me."

He looked at her like she was some noble and godlike creature keeping him on the righteous path. Someone he'd disappointed. She scoffed.

"Thank you for stopping _me_."

"You wouldn't have done it," he said with such conviction.

"Killed him? Maybe not. But I've done plenty to be ashamed of," she admitted, remembering how much she'd wanted to wound the man who'd dared hurt an innocent woman and child, a family.

(Remembering all the families, women and children she'd watched fight and sacrifice themselves trying to protect their homes, trying to defend a gift they never should have had to apologize for.)

And to discover that the one to blame was someone who must have known, who must have experienced what it was like to hide, to lie, to betray who they were just for the sake of survival.

"We all make mistakes. I'm certainly not one to judge you for losing your temper. You had to stop me. But you? You stopped yourself. You're stronger than you realise, milady."

She thanked him silently, didn't trust herself to speak for fear of admitting that she hadn't always been as strong as he believed her to be. That she may have controlled her temper this time (in the end), but she had failed to do so many times before.

As she had predicted, Robin hadn't slept at all. He had healed his wounds, the one on his jaw and other minor cuts on his arms and chest, his clothes looked clean, and he had hunted their breakfast. Roasted deer was ready and warm for her to eat and he had collected some berries to take with them on their journey.

He expected it would take about four days to reach Widow Lucas' village. Robin may have been impatient, but he was adamant she gave her magic a rest. The thought made her bite her lip to stop a grin and detangle her braided hair to hide a blush.

He pointed her in the direction of a stream and she hurried to jump in the cool water. She cowardly wanted time away from him, away from his kind and understanding eyes. How could he still admire her after yesterday?

She had mistrusted him when they'd first met, had barely started to consider him pleasant company a few days ago, but he had been open and accepting of her right from the start. He had told her secrets, shared his fears, and offered comfort when she'd needed it. Without asking for reciprocation.

She finally started to believe he didn't have any hidden intentions. How odd.

She came back freshly washed, her clothes having had time to dry in the wind and rest from being worn for too long, and her hair was left loose as she'd noticed he rather liked it. His smile when he saw her delighted Regina more than she'd anticipated it would.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with a grateful nod at his worrying. "Hopefully we won't encounter any dangers on the way, and I should be just fine."

Then, quite unexpectedly, she added, "My magic used to be stronger. Before _these_ ," as she raised her wrist, dragged her sleeve up to her elbow, and showed him the sparkling golden band, so tight around her skin and since so long ago that she could convincingly claim she didn't feel them anymore.

Robin looked at her with sympathy; he couldn't possibly know all that they meant, but he deduced enough to understand something had been taken from her. He wanted to ask. In part, she believed, because he was genuinely curious about her and in part to take his mind off of what had transpired the night before.

She had just witnessed his most painful memory, a memory that wasn't even his before today, but that had haunted him nonetheless. It was only fair that she should share something in return.

"You don't owe me anything," he said then, taking her hand in both of his. "In fact, I owe you everything."

"Robin—"

"No, I do. If it hadn't been for you, I'd never have known that my child was still alive."

"It was my duty," she reminded him. Clearly the wrong thing to say from the guilty look in his eyes and the way his hands started slightly to shake, wanting to release hers, but also needing to grasp onto something.

He reluctantly let go of her fingers, gave her a grateful smile, and rose from beside her. "Do you wish to go back to my camp?" he asked.

"What?"

"While I look for my son," he clarified.

"You don't want me to come with you?"

"No! I mean, yes, I do," he sighed harshly. "I don't want you to feel like you're under any obligation."

"I know I'm not. You haven't made any other wish, have you? You don't need to," she hurried to explain when she saw how he started considering this option he temporarily had forgotten, "you should save the ones you have left, we'll find your son easily enough."

Why was she telling him this? Usually, she incited her masters to hand over the ruby stones quickly. Rarely had she had a master with whom she wished to stay longer. And certainly never one that made her feel the way Robin did. Confusion and fear were familiar emotions, but they'd never been paired with respect and longing. With hope.

Well, they had once. Such a long time ago.

"I _want_ to come with you," she told him.

His smile was pleased, but his eyes still doubtful. She started marching in the direction of the thick forest. Wordlessly, he followed.

.

.

.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, until Regina decided that, though he was right and she didn't owe him anything, she didn't have to open up just because he had, she wanted to.

She wanted someone who would listen to her. She had lost so many people, people who she had, maybe foolishly, believed would always remain by her side.

She had lost her sister. She had lost her first love. She had been separated from her best friend. Her mentor had disappeared, abandoned her.

She even mourned the loss of her mother.

She had no one.

She'd thought Leopold's daughter would become a friend. But the girl was too young, too cuddled and yet not given enough attention where it really counted. The girl needed a mother, not a playmate, and she could never be that.

But Robin… Robin was here, however temporary it was. He was here and he was willing to listen.

So she told him about where she was born. About her family. About how in those early years, and she and sister would run around chasing butterflies, make flower crowns, and practice changing the colors all round them. She told him about running to her father's estate once every few months, listening to him talk about living at court and their lavish parties and drunken fooleries. She told him about her father reading her stories, telling her that she was destined for great things and, someday, someone would write _her_ story.

She tried to remember how happy she had been. When she had been young and thought herself brave (when in fact she had been reckless, with her own life and the lives of those around her). She didn't want to tell Robin about the tragedies she had known. Not yet, not now, not with what he'd just faced and the uncertainty that still awaited him.

They would have time, she thought. Time to discuss her mother, her sister's betrayal. Daniel. The war. She didn't want to burden him.

But, of course, he didn't see it as a burden. Maybe it was a simple distraction for him to hear about her sorrows instead of thinking about his, but nevertheless he never made her feel as if she didn't matter. As if her pain didn't matter.

And pain she had in abundance. Even if he didn't know the extent of it, he knew enough, he knew she was trapped and doomed to a life of servitude.

"What happened?" he asked.

"What always happens when humans don't understand something. They're taught to fear it," she answered. "You know, genies were here long before humans graced the earth," she began recounting with an angry roll of her eyes. "They built great civilizations and castles, took care of the lands, tended to nature's capricious ways. They lived in peace. And then when the humans came, genies made it their mission to help anyone who asked for it, anyone who _deserved_ it. But when I'd barely reached womanhood, we were made to bow to them. Whispers say the gods offered these _cuffs_ to humans. So they could capture us, weaken our magic, control it. It is said the gods feared our power. So our cities were destroyed, most of us were killed and the few genies that remained were imprisoned in lamps, bottles, or whatever small vessel could keep us from getting out."

"Did anyone escape?"

"I assume so. I assume some are still hiding, masking themselves as humans and slowly losing their magic for lack of using it. Many more have probably shifted into other forms."

Before he could ask, she explained, "Once we reach adulthood, we have the ability to transform into anything we want. Some choose to wander as panthers, crocodiles, frogs, snakes. Even dragons," she smirked.

"Dragons wouldn't be very inconspicuous," he pointed out.

"No indeed," she chuckled fondly.

"Do _you_ shift into an animal?" he asked with eyebrows raised and a teasing grin.

"I _can_. I haven't in a long time," she replied.

"Your cuffs make it impossible," he deduced.

And on they went discussing her magic, how she loved it, how she hated it, how she couldn't imagine being without it. They talked until the moon rose and Robin seemed to almost have forgotten what kept him from sleeping the night before. But when they made camp — which consisted of only the stolen blankets and a small fire Robin had taught her how to build, never having needed such a skill before now — he found himself unable to close his eyes once more. Regina insisted he couldn't go on this way.

"What if I can't take care of him?" he finally asked after she'd prodded and reassured there wasn't anything he could say that she wouldn't try to understand. "What if I can't take care of him without Marian?"

"You can."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because you have to," she said. "You wished for answers, remember? You wished to know how your wife died? She died trying to protect your child and being afraid he'd be left alone. Don't let her fears become truths. Otherwise the guilt you've carried around won't ever go away."

He laughed bitterly. "I sought answers to alleviate my guilt," he surrendered, as if he'd always suspected, but had only now the bravery to acknowledge it with certitude. Or had no choice but to, since she'd seen right through his motives. She knew all too well the guilt that accompanied surviving the loss of a loved one. Only, in this case, his blame was misplaced. "I did think this would make me feel better. What sort of person does that make me?" he wondered, ashamed and frightened of the answer.

"It makes you human," she reassured. "Robin, whatever you may have told yourself, what happened to her wasn't your fault. You gave her love, adventure and excitement, a family. You help people. You are a good man. Those criminals resented that and they took it out on someone who never deserved such retaliation. But, Robin, neither did you. You can't keep punishing yourself."

"I'm not," he denied.

She sent him a glare reminding him of the time he had told her how stealing from the rich to give to the poor felt like something he _had_ to do rather than something that filled him with happiness and pride, and the satisfaction that he'd achieved a noble purpose, like it once did.

"Maybe that's the problem," she said. "You're not doing this because you believe in your cause, but because you're trying to make amends. If you do good hoping to be redeemed, is it really good?"

* * *

At the end of four days, just as predicted, they reached Daggerhorn. After inquiring after the widow, they were met with a glower and a crossbow pointed at their heads. Robin couldn't say he appreciated the hostility, but he admired her audacity. He was certainly grateful someone as fierce as she had been protecting his son.

She took greater care of him than he could have.

Luckily, they had brought the dreamcatcher and the old wolf, being no stranger to magic, was easily convinced. She was shocked and appalled to discover that the child left in her care didn't belong to the werewolf they'd left at the sheriff's door. The werewolf who had been exiled from her pack — a detail he'd failed to mention.

Her _former_ pack, she told them. Granny, as she'd insisted they call her, had admitted to no longer being able to transform.

Her daughter had taken over — though from Granny's expression, Robin suspected she had a very different way of leading, a way Granny disapproved of — and her granddaughter was being groomed to receive the honour next.

Granny had looked after his son on her own. Feeding him, bathing him, tending to his fevers, and teaching him how to walk and talk. He hadn't been left alone. That fact should have given Robin comfort, but it rather brought a shame that he knew to be unjustified, but real nonetheless.

 _She_ kept a tight hand around his own and he hoped the thankful smiles he threw her way were enough to convey just how much he appreciated her being here.

It was quite late, much too late for an infant to be out of bed, but something must have dragged his son — his _son_ , how strange to think of him, of anyone, as such — out of slumber and into the sitting room of Granny's cottage. Robin, who had been seated, got up uncommonly fast and foolishly startled the boy. He clung to Granny's dress, but still greeted them with polite timidity.

His son looked so very much like his mother. Light olive skin that would darken considerably in summer. Sable, thick and messily curled hair. And deep, lively eyes likely to get away with most anything.

But when the genie by his side softly greeted him, Marian's son's agreeable smile revealed a set of dimples matching Robin's. His shocked, open-mouthed appearance morphed into a wide grin at meeting this sweet, small boy. _His_ boy.

A boy that didn't know his father. How could Robin explain to him why he had to leave this house? Why he had to be taken away from the only place he'd ever called home?

The boy started wailing when Granny told him what would happen. And Robin could see that the kind, but tough, widow was struggling to keep from doing the same.

He felt rotten.

It took many assurances and promises that they would visit Granny very often — and many warm touches through soft curls from the beautiful genie — before his son either resigned himself or became too exhausted to keep protesting.

Robin had every intention of keeping his promise, even offered for Granny to come back with them at the camp, but she refused saying she wanted this cottage to always be a home her granddaughter could come back to and confessed that she considered his son her grandchild as well and would always welcome him as often as he'd wish.

With his son in her arms, farewells said and thanks given, the genie grabbed his hand once more and magicked all three of them back to his camp.

The men were asleep, thank the gods, because he didn't want to answers questions tonight. Tonight, he just wanted to hold his son.

 _Roland._

Granny had named him and Robin couldn't imagine giving him any other name.

As the three of them sat around the fire, Roland presently cradled against her chest, sleeping, quietly snoring, on her lap, her grin, reserved just for his son, — so engrossed in the darling tot was she that she didn't realise Robin was admiring her — was unlike anything Robin had seen on her before. He beamed as he watched the both of them, both curiously but wonderfully similar.

He felt himself an outsider spying on such an intimate moment. But unable to look away. Unable to imagine he'd ever witness a more beautiful sight.

* * *

 **Thank you for sticking with this story!**

 **If you enjoyed this chapter, please take a moment to tell me :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I am the worst at updates, I'm so sorry it's taken me this long, I really want to be much better, but school has been kicking my ass! Anyway, I finally managed to write a bit, I hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

He hadn't had the heart to separate them. When she'd risen to return to her tent, his son had gripped her shoulders and his little legs had wrapped themselves tightly around her waist. Still asleep, but somehow sensing the threat of separation. Her first reaction had been to smile, pleased at his insistence, to hug him closer, and run her fingers through his curls. But then she'd turned to Robin with wide eyes, scared of being too presumptuous, of taking from him when he'd already lost so much. As if he'd have snatched his boy from her arms. His son had found warmth and solace in her embrace and he'd found comfort in having her here, selfishly, perhaps.

He'd walked them to her tent, had left with a pat on his son's shoulder and a light graze of her fingers, where they'd fallen from his son's hair to his back, as he'd held her gaze for as long as he could and even managed to draw a hint of that stunning grin he'd spied earlier in the evening, unbeknown to her, he thought, her guard not so raised when in the presence of his son.

Now, under the sun's first shy rays, she came out of her tent looking well rested and with a peaceful smile having sneaked its way onto her lips. He even heard her wish a good morning to one of his men — granted, she probably didn't know his name, but still — but she seemed too preoccupied to notice John's dazed expression at the unexpected attention.

She had changed back into her white dress that showed off her stunning legs and rippled in the wind, making her appear ethereal, a vision that could disappear at any moment and yet never truly be gone. He already knew the day she would leave, traces of her would remain all around the camp. She'd told him how nature whispered to her and responded to its caretaker's magic. But he hadn't really noticed how the forest changed with her presence until now. The trees around their tents had more flowers than they'd seen in years, fruits grew faster, ahead of seasons and unconscious of weather, the rivers seemed warmer, safer, the birds and animals were drawn to this corner of the woods without suspicion or fear of their weapons.

The men had half-heartedly complained about missing the thrill of the hunt, which led to an increase in heists. They were reckless and loud with boasts of their exploits. And Robin wanted nothing more than to partake.

But he had a son to think about. A son his men remained unaware of.

When Marian had first announced that she was pregnant, his mates had called for a celebration. They had been so excited to have a little merry man or woman to shape into the greatest thief there ever was or would be. _Robin's legacy_ , they had called it. Had warned him about how he would be dethroned before the tot even reached his teens. How could he not with this group of uncles to show his child what it meant to be an outlaw?

He remembered listening to his friends, drunk on happiness as well as (stolen) ale, while he held his wife close to the fire, his heart too full to join in, plan their child's future and think he'd never been so blessed as he was right in that moment. When he'd run from home, he'd never dreamed he would have a family such as this one.

To lose part of that family had broken him. And his men. They'd recovered faster, of course, but they'd still felt the loss of Marian and their unborn child keenly. The camp had never known such sorrow as it did on that day.

The day he lost everything. Or so he'd thought. Until the woman coming towards him had given him back a future he'd given up on.

How would he break the news of his son to his men without revealing how exactly they'd found him? And who'd made it possible?

"Good morning, milady," he said.

"Robin," she greeted with a nod.

"How did he sleep?" he immediately asked. Robin himself had tossed for most of the night thinking of his son just a few footsteps away and him unable to hold and console him should he need it.

"Very well," she reassured. "I think he must have been more drained than he was sad. Sorry, I meant—"

"No, you're right," he sighed. "I just hope I can make it easier for him." But the truth was he didn't know where to begin to make the camp a place his son could call home. Let alone make him consider strangers his family.

"Robin, you don't have to worry. I imagine it seems daunting now, but, with time, he'll be so happy to have found you. I have no doubt that he will love you so much."

He smiled. "I already love him."

"Of course you do," she chuckled. "I kind of do too," she admitted sheepishly.

"I believe that to be mutual," he said remembering how quickly Roland had trusted her and welcomed her affections. _Like father, like son._

"I didn't mean to take him away on your first night togeth—"

"I know," he said quickly, putting his hand on her own and stroking her knuckles, "I told you, I'm glad he's so taken with you." _Just as I am._ "Just as— uh, it— if having you here can help with him being more at ease, then I'm happy."

 _You being here makes me happy_ , he thought as she responded to his reassurances with a smile similar to the one he'd witnessed last night — the one that had occupied his dreams — and he found his gaze drawn to her lips, an involuntary reaction that he was quick to banish. He thought he'd gotten away with it until he looked back into her eyes, golden in the sun, and their crinkle and her small smirk told him he wasn't as sneaky as he'd always believed.

She squeezed his fingers with her other hand and her lips parted, her soft, red, beautifully scarred lips, — _damn, he's looking again_ — as if to say something when her eyes shifted past his shoulder in the direction of her tent. He turned quickly, prompted by her wide, nervous gaze, to see his son standing at the tent's entrance, half of his body shielded by its flaps.

They both stood up, though Robin now had the presence of mind not to do so too fast and not frighten his boy. But Robin standing there immobile, holding her hand tightly, didn't escape the men's notice and quite a few utensils dropped when they finally spotted what had them rooted in place, a little boy now running back into the tent.

 _Fuck._

He was about to move when he felt her hand run up to his elbow and tug to turn him towards her, her eyes pleading that it might be more prudent to let her go. He nodded sadly, though not without a grateful smile, before she left him standing in the middle of the camp, twenty curious eyes on him.

* * *

Regina had woken with a heavy lump on her chest and dark curls obstructing her vision. Yesterday felt like a blur. The past few days felt like a blur; she'd come here, been summoned, and had expected to long to be back inside her prison. She hadn't expected to _like_ her captor. Even thinking of him as such felt wrong when he was anything but, when he'd shown her every kindness and respect. She'd known good intentioned masters before. But he was more than that. And he was more dangerous than any of them because of it. She had tried to keep him at a distance. But she hadn't anticipated meeting and having her heart stolen by his son. She had no protection against that.

Everything inside of her screamed to run to protect the sweet boy.

She opened the tent's flap to find Roland curled up on the bed staring at his knees. She waited for him to see her and nod when she asked if she could come in before she sat at the end of the cot.

"You left," he accused in a small voice. How stupid of her to have left him to wake up alone in an unfamiliar place.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she rushed. "You were sleeping and I needed to tell your father that you were alright. I wouldn't leave you," she said with a bitter taste in her throat when she wondered how she could promise that when her days here were numbered.

But he'd have his father. He wouldn't care about her leaving.

She reached a hand towards him and he grabbed it and came to sit in her lap and let himself be rocked. After a few moments, she kissed his hair and held a finger under his raised chin before asking, "You want to come outside with me?" He looked down, uncertain and afraid. "Don't you want to see your father?" And when he still didn't answer, "How about some breakfast, are you hungry? Just come outside to eat. I promise you won't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to, and I'll be sitting right beside you. Is that alright?"

He nodded shyly, but stayed in her arms when she moved to get up. When they came out, the men were in a circle surrounding Robin and they all turned to stare at Roland who shifted closer in her hold. She looked directly at Robin, her displeasure evident, she knew, and restrained herself from snapping at him. Couldn't he have told his men about Roland earlier? The boy was scared enough as it was; the last thing he needed was to be overwhelmed by everyone coming to greet him all at once, no matter how noble their intentions.

Robin, thankfully, read her scowl and quickly demanded everyone go back to whatever they were doing. But that didn't stop the men from sneaking glances at the newcomer, only to be startled into looking away by her threatening glare.

 _Un-fucking-believable._ She was seething and Robin at least had the good instinct to stay away lest he ruined any progress he could hope to achieve with his son today.

When Roland, no longer in her lap, but still too close to her to mistake his appetite for comfort, began to eat, Regina nodded reluctantly to Robin and he slowly came to sit, not in his usual spot on her other side, but across from them. He didn't say anything as Regina silently commanded him to follow her lead.

"Good morning, Robin," she said with more affection than she felt at the moment.

Roland looked up at her and then, no doubt having been taught proper manners, murmured a soft _Hello_ to his father.

"Hello to you both," Robin said trying to appear calm and not stand agape before the boy in front of him that already meant so much to him. "Did you sleep well?" he asked to no one particular and Regina smiled despite her anger when Roland felt comfortable enough to answer.

"Yes. Gina sings very pretty," Roland replied eagerly.

"She does?" Robin asked, eyebrows raised, seeming very pleased at this newfound knowledge. Regina impulsively ran her fingers through the boy's hair, remembering how he'd woken when she'd laid him to sleep and would only close his eyes again after she'd taken him back in her arms and sung to him a lullaby her sister used to sing to her. "I'd love to hear that sometime," Robin said, his eyes on her and his voice an octave lower.

Regina tore her gaze away back to his son and she could feel Robin frowning, but she'd be damned if she let his poor attempt at flirting make her forget his thoughtlessness.

"Will you sing again, Gina?"

"Of course I will. Whenever you want, sweetheart," she promised, kissing Roland's forehead and trying very hard to ignore Robin's scrutiny.

"Would it be alright if I listened?" Robin asked his son, but then he shifted his question to her, as she knew he wouldn't if she refused. Roland looked at her and she smirked playfully as if they were conspiring to decide whether his father could be allowed such a privilege. To Robin, she supposed it would be.

"I guess," Roland replied. He looked unsure of his answer, but he smiled, when he saw Robin's grin and his matching dimples.

When they finished breakfast, one of the men suggested, suspiciously loudly, that a group should go and pick some berries and firewood, to which Roland perked up. With a hand on his back, she prompted him to join them if he desired.

She expected Robin to go as well, but he simply wished his son a good time and looked over his shoulder at a couple of his men taking the boy by the hand and leading him deeper amongst the trees before turning his attention back to her.

"You're upset with me," he said. _How observant._

"How could you not tell them about Roland?" she whispered furiously, forgetting any previous intentions she might have had about discussing this with him calmly. "What was your plan? Introduce him to them without any warning? Let the poor boy be frightened away from all the sudden attention?"

"I'm sor— I didn't think," he stuttered, at a loss as to how he could have been so inconsiderate. _Good._ "I didn't want to remember seeing Marian die and losing control; I wanted to forget it all. I didn't think about him," he whispered, his shoulders dropping and his eyes closing, locking in his tears.

"When you asked me not to say where we were going, I understood," that he didn't want to be talked out of it or that he couldn't bare to be reminded of the broken man he had been after his wife's death. "But your son is always going to be a part of your life. As such, he's a part of theirs. How could you keep that to yourself?"

"You're right, I know! I know!" he replied harshly before releasing a guilty sigh. "I'm sorry," he said looking at her with devastating sincerity. "I'm so sorry. I was an idiot, I didn't think. Which I'm aware is no excuse, but all I can hope is to do better. And I will. He's my _son_ , I promise I'll do better," he vowed more to himself than to her.

She was angry, but she still believed in his ability to do the right thing. The last thing she wanted was for him to lose faith in himself.

"I know you will."

He got up and came to sit by her side, but not before gesturing to his seat and inclining his head in question. Was he allowed to come closer? She nodded. Of course he was.

"And I'm sorry I kept you being genie a secret," he said his body turned towards her, their knees touching.

"Why did you?" she asked, unable to keep her hurt quiet.

"I didn't want them to treat you differently," he answered as if it were obvious.

"Yet you're the one who did just that by withholding that information."

He closed his eyes as his brow creased in pain. "Right again," he conceded. "As much as you've told me, your past is still a mystery, and that's fine, please believe me that I would never pressure you into revealing more than you're willing. But I didn't want to bring you more pain. I didn't want you to simply feel like a means to an end because I never saw you as the genie compelled to grant my wish. Maybe I went about it the wrong way. I deeply apologize. You mean so mu— I think very highly of you, and it has nothing to do with your magical abilities. I suppose I wanted everyone to see you for more than your power."

"If you can see me as more than just a genie, why wouldn't your men be able to do the same?" she asked teasingly. "What makes you so different?"

"I guess," he said taking her hands — which had slid from her lap to her knees, the tips of her fingers touching and practically pulling at the fabric of his pants, without any conscious thought on her part — in his, "I didn't think they'd want to know you quite as much as I do, Gina"

She burst out laughing, effectively breaking the very charged moment. _Thank the gods._ "It's Regina, actually."

"Regina," he repeated reverently, none too fazed. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She did her best to keep a blush from creeping its way onto her cheeks and it was to no avail, judging by Robin's smirk. "Uh—" she swallowed, releasing his hands, "shouldn't you go with them?"

Reluctantly, he nodded and left, sparing her a final glance just before disappearing behind the trees.

Regina released a heavy breath. Being around Robin always made her feel so exposed; with one simple look he could uncover secrets better left buried. He was able to see so much more than she expected.

He was right about people in her past seeing her as just a means to an end. Only as a way for them to get everything their heart desired.

She had been with Leopold for over a decade. He would wait years before making a wish and, by the time Robin had stolen her, he still had one left. Leopold knew as long as he still had at least one stone, she couldn't leave. He could compel her to do what he wanted without having to utter the words.

Leopold might have been too frightened of her magic to touch her, but that didn't stop his leering. It certainly didn't stop the chills from creeping up her skin. She was used to serving men who'd have gladly taken more than she'd willingly give, and yet, the fear that one day she wouldn't be strong enough to stop them had never gone away. Magic protected her and without it, she'd be vulnerable. Ordinary.

 _Why would you want to give it all up?_ Her mother had never understood.

She'd been right. As much as she tried not to be, Regina was a slave to her emotions. Emotions made her weak. And being around Robin messed with her emotions in a way her mother would frown on. Compassion was weakness, after all. _Love_ was weakness.

In this moment, she felt weak. Because even as she told herself that feeling anything more than animosity towards Robin was dangerous, she was powerless to stop it.

Especially when he returned to the camp hours later beaming and apple-cheeked from the exhaustion that no doubt came from running around entertaining an active toddler. Roland had his arms full of twigs, more than he could carry, claiming that they were necessary for he wanted a big fire. The men were all too eager to comply. They were already wrapped around his little finger and when they all sat around the fire, it turned into a competition to see which storyteller could make Roland laugh the hardest. Robin was happy to sit quietly beside her and watch his son be welcomed into this family that he'd created so long ago.

"I suppose I should count myself lucky he has the sweetest disposition which will make my men forget I ever kept anything from them," he said. "He already has the whole band enraptured and ready to die for him if need be."

"Children have a way of doing that. The King used to have that same expression whenever he looked at his daughter." She cursed the way Leopold invaded her thoughts and reminded her of a time she'd rather forget. "She was the apple of his eye. He was always foolishly trying to grant her every whim. I made his brat of a spawn win horse races, collecting prizes like one would seashells, trophies that rightly belonged to others." It made her furious to think of Snow receiving praises she didn't deserve while Regina had never been met with approval. Not by the one she sought it most from. "She never knew of course, that the medals weren't a result of her _unsurpassable talent_. I never had the heart to tell her."

"You cared about her," he said, no question in his tone.

She scoffed. "She was insupportable."

He nodded. "But you cared about her."

"She was far too spoiled for her own good. Still, being unable to refuse your child anything isn't the worst thing a parent can be."

"My parents certainly didn't share that affliction," Robin revealed, his voice dripping with too much bitter sarcasm for it to be a simple offhanded comment. "They were never cruel to me, just… indifferent."

"Which is its own kind of cruelty," she knew.

"True. Speaking from experience?" he asked as he turned to her in a way she'd come to recognize, with his attention fully on her, as if, in that moment, nothing and no one else mattered.

"No," _my sister was the unlucky one in that regard._ "My mother had, in fact, too much interest in me. Or, not really me, but what she wanted me to be."

"And what was that?"

"Her. Powerful. Calculating. Heartless. The perfect ruler." What a disappointment Regina had turned out to be. "My mother was a queen," she answered in anticipation of Robin's next inquiry, "and _a better monarch we've never known_ ," she recited, having been told as much many times while the war raged on and it fell on her to lead. _Quite a lot to live up to._

"Does that make you the future sovereign?" he asked, curious and maybe a little impressed.

"It would if there was any kingdom left," she breathed.

She hadn't noticed, too lost in her tale, but suddenly she became aware of his hand next to hers and, even though he didn't move to reach her, the knowledge that at any moment she could was consoling enough.

When Roland's eyes started dropping, Regina went to pick him up — to the men's desolate grumbles — and the three of them walked to her tent. Roland didn't want to spend the night away from her and when she'd looked at Robin, there had been no question that his son should stay with her and that he would graciously return to his own tent. But as he was saying goodnight, with a little bow — which she was sure was due to what he'd recently learned about her, but that Roland giggled at, pleased by the attention — he lingered and looked at her expectedly.

She was frowning until Roland tugged on her hand, "You have to sing, Gina. We promised Papa."

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 **I love everyone who's still reading this story and I love those comments ;) 3**


	6. Chapter 6

_It's been soooo long, I know, I am so so sorry! I'm really going to try to update more often lest everyone loses interest because it is now summer and I should have more free time._

 _Anyway, here is the new chapter, thanks so much for the lovely comments and for sticking with this story, I hope you like it :)_

 _Includes Stable Queen and Outlaw Maiden flashbacks._

* * *

It felt like waking up from a deep slumber. From a curse. Like he'd been asleep for years without knowing it. Like he couldn't see anything, couldn't see his life unfold and go on without waiting for him to catch up. All he knew was everyone else kept on living and he was trapped, waiting for transport to take him where he needed to go. He couldn't focus on the words, all he heard was noise, sharp ringing noise, muffled screams that pushed him forward. And he went, without thought or direction. He survived.

But now his eyes were wide open. He could see and hear and breathe again. And what he saw was his son running around the camp trying to dodge a mythical monster. He saw him dancing late in the evenings when the wine found his men fancying themselves musicians. He heard his honeyed laugh. His sweet voice begging for stories of his father's scariest heists. He felt his son's hand in his when he walked him to Regina's tent. And his arms around his neck before each _goodnight_.

It had taken a few weeks, but he was now a father in more than just name. And blessedly, his son seemed to view him as such too. He was eager to share his meals with him, to go with him to redistribute stolen wealth to the neighbouring villages (seeing the people praising Robin certainly went a long way to earning Roland's trust and affection), to help him knit his clothes (he had become a promising student under Granny's tutelage and took great pleasure in watching Robin try and follow Tuck's instructions).

When his bedtime came, Roland would ask about his mother. How Robin had met her, how they'd fallen in love, how much they'd wanted him. How she'd died.

Such tales deserved retelling, so she could stay alive in them if not otherwise.

 _He walked in the woods, a half-enthusiastic whistle at his lips' tips and an apple between his fingers, looking for any excuse not to go home. His mother hadn't asked where he was going. She was used to his escapades to the forest. To the only place he felt like himself, without constricting clothes or stiff manners, silly traditions or bitten tongues. Here, he could be free. He could run._

 _And run he did, over rocks and under branches, he ran along rivers in plain sight and between the trees' shadows. He ran uninterrupted and without care. No one could stop him. No one ever had._

 _Until today._

 _He stopped his pursuit abruptly, stumbling — almost falling over his feet — in front of a young woman. A beautiful young woman. Despite her tear-stained cheeks. He tried approaching gently, but she'd heard his ungraceful entrance and looked up at him not in surprise, but in anger._

 _So she knew who he was. And he knew who was no doubt to blame for her tears. Whatever she'd lost — her crops, her livestock, or her home — he had benefitted from it._

Robin always told Roland the same thing. It hadn't been love at first sight. It hadn't been the epic forbidden tale one recognized from bedtime stories. But, by gods, if it hadn't been the greatest story he'd ever lived. Even if it was too short.

He'd always dreamed of leaving his parents' manor. He would imagine escaping into the night with nothing but the dark clothes on his back and running towards a better future. He would imagine there was a long lost family that would find him after years of searching for him but being kept hidden and away for shocking and secretive reasons, take him in, and teach him all the things his parents had deprived his childhood of. Maybe he would finally have someone to go fishing with, climb trees and rooftops, play with swords rather than practice with them. Maybe he would have friends.

But there hadn't been anyone to rescue him. For a long time, he thought Marian had been the one that saved him from his miserable life. That she'd taken him away and he'd gladly accepted. It all sounded terribly romantic; the brave and fair maiden who'd shown the wealthy lonely boy all that life could offer beyond the walls of his prison.

He'd liked to think his life hadn't really begun until he'd met her. And that, without her, he never would have had the courage to leave. He used to think so. But now, he knew that had always been his choice. She certainly didn't push him towards it. In the beginning, she'd have gladly walked away from his acquaintance without glancing back. Really, she had been the spark he'd waited for to finally take that final step. The glimmer of hope that, should he leave, he could find something good and wonderful. Even before any illusion that they might have a future together had entered his mind, he'd decided that he would leave if only for the promise of a love that his parents had always told him he couldn't afford.

They had been wrong. And Robin being a parent himself, that wasn't a lesson he intended to pass down to his son. Not much that his parents had taught him was worth repeating. He'd love nothing more than for Roland to have the same opportunities that Robin had growing up. The opportunities, but without the restrictions. Knowing what he now knew, having experienced all that he did, Robin could have done so much with all that wealth at his feet had his parents been just a touch less greedy. He could have been like those wise and just lords one learned about from history books.

Maybe his son could be.

And Robin could show him. He wouldn't be like his parents. He'd be the father he had wished for too long he could have had.

(Still did.)

He hadn't thought he would have a legacy. That dream had died with Marian. To be able to desire such things again, to have this second chance, was too good a wish come true. He had a responsibility to make the most of it.

He was blessed to have his son. He wanted nothing more than for Roland to feel the same about him. And they were getting there. Slowly, but surely.

At present, Roland was with Will, his hands raised towards the sky and the stars reflected in his eyes when he spotted him and merrily ran into his arms. Robin couldn't help but kiss his chubby cheeks whenever he had the chance until his son squeaked with laughter.

"What have you lads been doing?" Robin asked, his arms tightly wrapped around Roland's legs.

"Learning about the stars," Roland replied, still a little breathless. "But I don't think Will tells it right. He calls all the stars Anastasia."

"He does," Robin accepted easily.

"Why?" his son asked, appalled that anyone could look at something and see it for anything other than what it appeared to be.

"Because when he sees something that beautiful, he can't help but think of her," Robin understood too well.

"Like you and Mama?" Roland said after a moment, surely not comprehending the meaning behind his words.

"Yes, my boy," Robin realized. Sleeping under the stars always comforted him because he knew Marian was guiding him. "The stars, they remind us that wherever we are, someone is always watching over us. Protecting us."

"Can I name the stars too?"

"Of course," Robin smiled. _Who keeps you safe?_

"One for Granny. You and Mama," Roland said. "And Regina."

 _Regina._

The woman who already made him feel so much in such a short amount of time. Some days he wanted to tell her just how much she meant to him. Not just as the genie who'd changed his life, but as the woman he imagined himself having a future with. Something he'd never dreamed he'd find again.

Except it was madness. He barely knew her, or she, him. There was so much left unsaid between them. Yet, he couldn't help but think that anything she'd share with him would only make him care for her more.

He'd never felt this sort of certainty.

" _Have come to take more from us?" she reprimanded. "Soon, you won't find anything."_

" _You know I had nothing to do with that," Robin insisted._

" _Do I?"_

" _I've told you before, my parents rule this land, not I."_

" _And I suppose that makes you blameless? Your parents can raise taxes, keep the products of our labours for themselves, demand boys to groom into soldiers and you just watch it happen. You keep coming back here to witness our suffering, you say you hate it and you think your quiet rebellion makes you sympathetic and one of us, but it doesn't. You're not like us. Because you could do something about it if you truly wanted to."_

" _I don't know what I can do," he admitted desperately, feeling more ashamed of himself then he'd ever had all the times his parents had made their disappointment known._

Marian had been defiant and had made him question himself more than a young man on the cusp of adulthood liked to think about.

He'd hated her for it. Until he loved her for it.

And when he'd been off that path — the one he and Marian had chosen — Regina had come along to remind him. Like destiny. He wanted so much to help her, to take her away from a life she despised, and she ended up being the one to save him.

Which was why he couldn't tell her how he felt. He shouldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her. Not when his heart hadn't healed, not when he couldn't offer her what she deserved. He wasn't equipped to take care of her heart. Not anymore (no matter how desperately he might want to.) And maybe her heart was just the same? Maybe she had lost and that had left it shattered beyond repair. Maybe they were two tragic souls doomed to wander alone with only the memory of a feeling worth living for.

He was happy just to be her friend. And her contender for his son's affections.

She was so good with Roland. She'd lived for centuries, he often wondered, had she ever had a family? Not her mother — who by her own accounts didn't seem the maternal sort — but a family of her own? Had she ever wanted one? He remembered Regina telling him that once he saw Marian dying he could never take it back — how right she had been — and she had looked trapped in memories of her own. She'd known loss, surely a lot more than he had. But had she given up on hope altogether?

It wouldn't seem so by observing her with Roland. Then again, he was sure she knew that whatever dalliance she formed here was only temporary. No matter how he wished it was otherwise.

He had wishes to make. He couldn't keep her here against her will. And if she couldn't stay, then he couldn't let her linger. Roland couldn't say goodbye to yet another person he loved. It had already gone on too far; his son would be devastated. Still, Robin wouldn't dream of keeping him away from her. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

He hoped Roland would understand.

He hoped Regina would stay.

He hoped.

* * *

A few of the men had gone hunting and she'd stayed behind with the rest. Tuck was busy washing some cloaks, Ed and Garland were acting out their last heist and very narrow escape like children, and Will was with the only actual child in the camp. Roland seemed entranced as he watched the sky. Regina remembered learning about all its wonders when she was younger. Her mother had never understood her fascination with them; they had magic, _why on earth would we use stars to navigate? Such a waste of time_ , she used to say.

She hadn't imagined that Regina had longed to need the stars.

Daniel had been the one to show her all about them. Everything he'd learned from her father. The stable boy hadn't been blessed with title or fortune, but with a master kind enough to teach him more than he'd dared dream of. While Regina was being groomed by her mother to become one of the most powerful genies of the age (but never quite as powerful as Cora was), Daniel was being tutored and learning things Regina remained ignorant of. Things more magical than all the spells Regina mastered.

But whenever Regina had been allowed to visit her father, she and Daniel would meet. They would talk and play, he'd teach her how to ride a horse and to swordfight (a game which she'd been only too delighted to show Emma). He'd been her best friend.

 _The horses were tied to a tree as the two were lying on the grass exhausted and sweaty from the exercise. Her clothes were dirty and her hair in disarray, but she couldn't stop laughing. She always loved it here. She never wanted to leave._

" _When do you go back?" he asked._

" _Tomorrow morning," she replied, her smile gone and her eyes watery._

 _Daniel turned to his side looking at her with a similar expression. All these years of friendship and it never became easier to say goodbye. "Why can't you stay longer?"_

" _Mother thinks Daddy is a bad influence on me. That whenever I go back there I am obstinate and impatient with a wicked tongue. She thinks Daddy must be poisoning me against her."_

" _I don't think you need any help with that," he teased._

 _Regina turned, facing him, her smile returning. "And really we both know who is actually responsible for my rebellious behavior," she winked._

" _You have plenty of fire without needing me to ignite it," he said, his tone too serious for what Regina intended. "One day, you'll be the Queen and you won't be able to come back here."_

 _She wanted to tell him that she would. She'd never leave him. But he was right, he was always right. She might become the Queen, but while her mother was alive, she'd be the Queen of nothing. The figurehead while Cora made all the decisions. Just like she always had._

" _Maybe I don't have to be Queen," she said._

" _Don't be ridiculous," Daniel scoffed._

" _I'm not!" she replied indignantly. "I'm serious. I can leave."_

" _No, you can't," he said as though he were talking down a child from doing something way beyond his capabilities._

" _Yes, I can," she insisted angrily._

" _Your mother would never let you," he reminded her._

" _She wouldn't know. We could leave in the night while she doesn't suspect a thing and be already far enough away by the time she does," Regina said desperately trying to believe such a feat was possible._

" _We?" Daniel asked, losing all previous derision and wearing something akin to hope on his face._

" _Wouldn't you want to come with me?" she asked suddenly afraid._

" _You know I'd go anywhere with you," he answered sweetly. "But what about your friends? Your father?"_

 _Regina thought of Emma then. She would miss her terribly, but Emma had her mother (a woman who took great delight in teaching them how to manipulate her favorite element and create winter, a woman who'd been more of a mother to Regina than Cora ever was) and her friends who Regina had never been very close to (for that was the price of being Cora's daughter), and she had Neal. Emma would understand. As would her father._

" _Daddy would want me to be happy. He knows how she is. He knows it would be best for me to get away from her. With you." She already knew how to take care of the horses, but Daniel could show her how to hunt, prepare food, and build shelter. They could live in the woods for all she cared._

" _Are you sure?"_

" _I'm sure I want you."_

He'd been her best friend. Until he'd become much more.

Seeing Roland with Robin now, she wondered how different her life would have been had she managed to escape with Daniel. Would they have married? Would they have had children?

She'd certainly thought about it. She had been ready to give up her power, her immortality for the chance to give a child of theirs a normal life. But after he'd died, she hadn't wanted it. Regina had realized then that she could never be normal. And when they'd started enslaving her friends, she didn't want to be. She was proud of her magic. She _needed_ her magic. And if she remained a genie, having loved ones only meant saying goodbye too many times.

Soon, she'd have to say goodbye to these people too. The merry men had become her reluctant companions; on rare — yet more frequent than she was used to — occasions, they made her smile and forget her worries, at night with the music and their loud boasts, her nightmares remained at bay. Roland had taken to her fast and she'd come to care for him just as quickly.

And there was Robin.

Robin who had sneaked into her heart like the magnificent thief he was reputed to be. He saw her for the woman she was — the woman she wanted to be — rather than the one she disguised herself as.

And yet, surprisingly, the reason he knew her so well already was because she allowed him to. In ways she hadn't with very many people.

She'd hate to lose that.

She'll hate it.

* * *

Roland was sleeping — still in Regina's tent, but now he managed to fall asleep without her there, as long as she was in the morning — and Robin had spread a blanket down by the fire on which he was presently lying, one leg over the other, his arms behind his head. It was a quiet night; a plan had been made for a robbery in the morning so they had to have clear heads and sharp wits.

Regina was seating across the fire surrounded by loads of his friends, all entranced by her no doubt. It made him smile to see how at peace she seemed and how much she belonged. There'd be no dry eyes the day she'd leave.

She smiled more freely now. He'd feel a pang of jealousy that he wasn't the only one anymore allowed to admire it, but he felt incomparable happiness at the thought that this place was a place that made her feel safe. And free. If only a little.

If only she could be truly free, would she stay? Would she find a purpose here?

When Robin had run away from his home, he had done so in order to steal from rich and noble families like his own and give back to the villages they exploited. He'd run away with quite a few silver pieces. His father had sent guards after him, but his searches had been neither long nor rigorous — Robin suspected his mother had had something to do with that, that she'd pleaded with her husband to let their son go.

His parents we never overly ambitious, they didn't feel the need to climb the social ladder all the way to the top, and they hadn't bothered much with who their son turned out to be. They were happy to live comfortably without too much exertion and running around looking for Robin evidently required more effort than they'd wanted to spare. Not to mention they'd needed to quiet the whispers and stop the pursuit by inventing a tragic accident and letting people move on to the next scandal.

He didn't complain. For it had allowed him to find meaning in his actions, in the people he helped. And with Roland by his side, he was starting to live for that noble purpose once more.

From what Regina had told him, genies had a similar mission. To help where help was needed rather than demanded. He saw the look on her face when they visited the villages. A similar look to the one she wore when Roland greeted her. Would she be unhappy once the time came to leave them? He didn't want her to be. But was it cruel to wish she would miss them as much as they would surely miss her?

.

.

.

The flap of his tent opened slowly and revealed a faint shape. Dark hair blended with the night sky, only a white flowing dress could be seen before she stepped further inside and the candlelight shone on her face. She took a hesitant step forward, unsure if she should be allowed in. What a ridiculous notion. He was seated on his cot, tired limbs and tired eyes, but just seeing her, having her close, was restoring his energy.

She'd never been in here before and seeing her now he was very aware of how small his accommodations were. And how close she was standing to him. How private — _intimate_ — it all seemed surrounded by darkness, a single light shining on. A single light enveloping them. A single glimmer of hope.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"No. Neither can you," she pointed out, having seen the light coming from inside his tent as she was walking around the camp. "Are you worried about tomorrow?"

He laughed. "No, I don't get worried. We're the best."

"Of course, how silly of me," she chuckled. "Then, what's troubling you?"

"I'm thinking about all this," he explained. "Stealing, redistributing. It's not really a long-term solution, is it? We can't possibly do it forever," he was beginning to realize.

"I guess not," she agreed.

"I want to help," he said.

"Your people?"

"Them. Everyone. I've seen too much suffering, and I'm sure you have too knowing the King as you do. They think they can do anything if it benefits them, never mind that they're not the ones putting in the effort. I steal and the people survive. But I want them to _live._ "

"I can give your people gold, Robin. I can't create it from thin air, it has to come from somewhere, but we could find it. But it's never going to be enough."

"What will then?" he asked.

"You tell me. They are your people," she pointed out.

"They are my parents' people." He scoffed, "not that they care."

"But you do. You wouldn't be doing this otherwise. I know you've convinced yourself that you're only helping to clear your conscience," she said before he could argue, "but that's not true. You were doing this long before. The people know who you are. They know you care. _You_ , not your parents. They are _your_ people. Your son's people someday."

" _You gave up everything for me," she said._

" _Not really. I had nothing before I met you," he admitted._

" _And now?"_

" _Now I feel like the luckiest man in all of Sherwood. You and our men and the work we do, I have everything I need."_

" _Everything? There isn't anything else you'd wish?" she asked._

 _He tilted his head, looked at her frowning because, with her by his side, he couldn't see what was missing. Until she took his hand and placed it on her flat stomach. One which, by her grin, wouldn't remain so for long. "Truly?" he whispered in awe._

 _Marian nodded, her eyes shining and her sobs making it impossible to offer a proper answer. He laughed and took her in his arms, twirling and twirling, their foreheads close, almost touching, and half kissing, half smiling. He couldn't imagine a day ever being as good as this one._

Regina was right. He didn't believe he was doing this simply to ease his guilty mind. Not anymore. He wanted so badly to change his people's lives. But that would take time. And many more resources than he had access to as a common thief.

"I want my son to have Locksley," he decided. "I want to raise him to put his people first. I want him to be fair and become the lord my father never was."

"Why not you?"

He shook his head. "I never wanted that life."

"What if your son doesn't either?" she challenged.

"Then he can choose not to. But I want him to be given a choice." His parents would never agree. Not unless they could model Roland in their image. "When I ran away, they took the title away from me. Away from any children that I might have."

"You want it back, your title."

"Yes."

"But you do realize that if we do get it back and your parents," she hesitated, "have to relinquish it before your son is of age, you'll be the one ruling Locksley. Something you said you didn't want to do."

"I want my son to be the heir. Not me," he said. "But if the situation arises and he is too young to take on the role, then I shall help him," he was convinced, "I won't mind doing it so long as I know I'll be showing him how to be just and kind. So long as I know I will be leaving the land in the right hands."

Roland shouldn't be denied his birthright because of his father. Robin was determined that he should have every opportunity available to him.

With those words, another wish had been made. Another wish closer to Regina's impending departure.


	7. Chapter 7

"Let's think about this. Since you've lost your title, whom will it go to?" Regina asked, glad to have a new task to focus on, glad to have found someone worthy of her power.

"Some distant cousin probably," Robin answered. "I couldn't be bothered to find out."

"Well, given the choice wouldn't your parents rather it go to their own descendant?"

She had certainly not turned out to be the heir her mother had hoped for, but Cora would've been damned to give her crown to someone other than her own blood.

"They would rather it go to someone who wouldn't spit on their legacy."

"But they could be persuaded to give Roland a chance. They might believe he would be a worthy lord. At least their definition of a worthy lord. More like them than you."

"I know that's exactly what they'll want once they hear of his existence. They'll want to raise him, get their claws in him while he's still young. And I won't let that happen," Robin practically shouted, indignant, as if she would ever suggest he let his son go after having only just found him.

"Neither will I," she said as she took his hand. "Listen to me, your parents don't know about Roland, and neither do the nobles in the kingdom. If we go to them, let them know of our intention of making Roland the heir, they will have to consider it. If, once he becomes of age, they don't find him suitable, their acquaintance will be none the wiser, and they will simply turn back to the option they have now. Really, we are offering them a better alternative. They'd be crazy not to take it."

"They won't let him go so easily. If they had him in their custody, they would consider it a guarantee. What's to stop them from taking my son?"

"Well, your men, for one. The entire population you've helped and who've seen Roland enough to take up arms for him. And me. I am a powerful genie, you know? I _have_ to grant you this wish, and Roland staying with you is an addendum."

"This seems too simple," Robin said, looking doubtful. She believed he'd never be easy with any course of action so long as there remained even the slightest risk of losing his son. "I thought genies were supposed to trick you and make you regret ever making a wish," he teased.

"Most do. Including myself. Masters keep us captive, leave their fates in our hands and expect us to grant them mercy," she scoffed. "My mentor always said to me that words have more power than most anything. Phrases can be twisted, interpreted in so many different ways. People make wishes thinking they'll get everything they want, but there's always a loophole. People are never as clear as they like to think. We are so miserable, why not make our masters equally so?" She looked down to find their hands still linked and let go. "But I didn't want to do that with you," she confessed, "not from your very first wish."

He smiled, his eyes unable to look away from her, she could see, even while she kept looking down at the floor. "You have such a beautiful heart, truly," he murmured. "The fairest in all the land."

She shook her head, furiously batting tears away, until she felt the tips of his fingers under her chin. She turned towards him, but kept her eyes closed. "You don't know me," she said.

"But I do."

"No, you don't. If you really knew me, then you wouldn't call my heart beautiful. My heart is black and bitter; it is evil," she spit.

"I find it hard to believe you could ever be evil, Regina. Bold and audacious, perhaps. But not evil." He was infuriatingly stubborn. She knew her heart best. (Even if a part of it seemed to respond to his voice only.)

"I've done things I'm not proud of," she said.

"As have I."

"It isn't comparable," she argued.

"You saw how I wanted to kill the men who took Marian. I would have, had it not been for you."

"But you can't know that for sure. I, however, don't have the luxury to dwell on _if_ s."

"Did you kill one of your masters?" he guessed.

"No, I couldn't."

"Well, there you are. You have a much kinder heart than I would, were I in your situation."

"No. I _couldn't._ Do you see these cuffs? I didn't always have them. The gods fashioned them and _gifted_ them to us," she said with a roll of her eyes, "as a symbol of our servitude. They link our lifeline to our masters'. If they die…"

"You die," he understood.

She expected him to ask what she was so ashamed of, what had darkened her heart so. But instead, ever the one to surprise, his concern won over his curiosity.

"If your cuffs symbolise your servitude, then removing them could mean your freedom," he said, hopeful.

"These come from the _gods_ , Robin. There's no removing them."

It should be so simple. She may be powerful, but not more so than the gods. Even Hercules, Snow's confidante since Regina had made it clear she had no intention of filling that role, hadn't been able to help. And his powers were as close to a god's as she had encountered. His dislike of genies' captivity had overshadowed his affection for Snow enough to keep their little — and ultimately fruitless — quest a secret. The little pest would have never agreed to help free her had she known it would mean leaving her.

"You said so yourself there is always a loophole. There must be a way to free you."

"There isn't."

"Regina…" he insisted.

"There isn't! Why won't you stop pushing?" she shouted.

"I'm trying to help you!" he said with a louder voice than before, but still nowhere near her volume.

"I've lived for centuries longer than you have," she was quick to remind him. "I don't need your help."

"I know that. But nothing you say to me could ever keep me from wanting to help you. Stop trying," he pleaded.

"You think you're the first? You think you're the first master to ever say those words?" she still yelled, all decorum forgotten, before whispering, "Every one of them changed their minds."

"Changed their minds about what?" he asked, too gentle, too caring.

"About…" she took a breath, already tired to this conversation, of his insistence that he could be an answer, "what they were willing to give up for me."

"I'm not your master."

"You are though. That's the only reason I'm here," she lied.

"Is it?" he asked, now angry. "Is there no other reason why you would be here?"

"What did you think? You're the least bit nice to me and I'd forget it was never my choice to be here?"

"You know I never wanted this. I don't want to keep you here against your will," he said as sincere as she'd ever heard him.

"But you are. Every day you don't make your last wish."

"Is that what you want? Me to make a wish? _Any_ wish?"

"It would certainly stop this."

"Stop what? Stop you from feeling what you are? That's what this is about, isn't it? You're scared," he accused. "Because you didn't use my wishes against me. Because you actually care. Because you don't want to leave!"

"I do want to leave! You can believe that."

"Well then," he sighed, laying his armor down, defeated, "let's make my wish happen, since that is why you're here."

She rose from where she'd been sitting on his bed, their hands still close despite their biting remarks. She left the tent because she daren't look at him for she knew she'd find him hunched over, his head in his palms, and his eyes closed trying to cast her words away from his memory. She left the tent before she could look upon his disappointed expression, one to match her own.

.

.

.

A toddler giggling — trying to stay quiet, but failing to do so — woke her before the sun could, and she groaned thinking of the day ahead with so little sleep to get her through it. Last night's fight still echoed in her ears. She dreaded seeing him today, feared looking into his eyes and seeing a different gaze than the one she'd gotten used to. His eyes were always kind and held a fondness in their blue depth that she'd mourn the loss of.

But she wasn't surprised. She'd expected to drive him away eventually. It was a reaction she knew all too well. As inevitable as the wishes she was bound to grant.

As soon as she was dressed, Roland dragged her out with the pretext of breakfast, though he must have known no one else would be awake so early. She was shocked, however, to find Robin already outside, sitting on his usual log poking at a low burning fire with a stick like a petulant child on a timeout. He looked up as soon as she stepped out and almost tripped over his boots in his eagerness to greet her, until his son ran into his arms demanding to be picked up. Robin obliged but, despite Roland's happy cries, his sour mood didn't improve.

She stood there watching father and son play for a while, Robin half-heartedly trying to keep Roland's voice down, and trying hard to keep his eyes on him and pay attention to whatever tale he was inventing, but they kept shifting away towards where she remained unmoved, unsure of whether it would be terribly rude of him to stop his son's charade and come say to her what he obviously wanted to.

She never gave him the opportunity to think too long on it, because soon some of the men were awake as well — thanks to Roland, though none complained — and while he was greeting them, she managed to escape further into the woods where he wouldn't come looking for her. Because as angry as he may be at her — and she, at him — she still knew he would leave her alone until she specified otherwise.

Roland, however, had no such consideration. Not that she could ever hold it against him.

There wasn't much time to waste. They had a heist planned to perfection and had to hurry to catch the carriages unawares while it was still early and the coaches not yet fully alert. They would hit in three places at once, the soldiers too busy with fighting them off to be called upon to help their friends.

Regina never joined; the men would think it a slight were she to assume they needed magical help. Now that they knew who she was, they were quick to insist that she limit the use of her powers. Their pride was surely at stake, but she suspected Robin had hinted that to abuse her powers wouldn't bode well for her strength. Yet again, he couldn't keep quiet and let her determine her own limits.

As they were ready to leave, she saw Robin turn to take his leave of her as he had done every time the situation warranted his departure since she'd been here, but she quickly busied herself with breakfast and he got the message well enough. After Roland received a hug from all the men leaving, he ran back to her and waved to the band.

Regina and Roland stayed behind with the two outlaws who'd drawn the short stick this time around. As if she alone wouldn't provide sufficient protection. But when it came to Roland's safety, she admitted to not minding extra precautions.

She had just sat him down with his food, expecting a pout over the abundance of greens, when instead Roland asked, "Are you mad at Papa?"

She'd forgotten how observant children were.

"No, honey," she replied sweetly. Despite their argument, she wouldn't dream of disturbing Robin's newfound relationship with his son. "We're just having a disagreement."

"A what?"

"It means we have different opinions about something."

Roland frowned and, after a moment, said, "Papa says I have a pinion cause rabbit is gross but John likes it."

" _O_ pinion," she corrected. After he repeated the word back to her, she affirmed, "Exactly. You and John disagree about rabbit."

"That's a silly reason to be mad. John looked at me with big eyes, but then he said, if I don't like rabbit, I can eat something else."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple with your father and I, sweetheart."

"Papa would talk to you even if he had to eat rabbit," Roland pointed out. "And he hates it too."

She chuckled. "Well, your Papa cares a lot."

"He loves me," Roland nodded, reciting something he heard everyday.

"He does."

"Do _you_ love me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you and Papa have same _o_ pinion," he said proudly.

She laughed. By that logic, all that separated them could be resolved by that one fact. That one thing that would always unite them. If only it were so simple.

But maybe Roland had a point. Wasn't Robin's heart big enough to include her as well?

She wanted to believe it so badly. That maybe she had truly met someone who cared enough. Who cared selflessly.

She had been insistent when talking to Roland about his father in those first days after they'd brought him to the camp. She had told him about how much Robin already loved him and would always protect him. But it hadn't been until Roland had seen him with the villagers he brought riches to that he started to believe a man who cared that much about strangers must love his son immensely.

It had taken multiple conversations to explain the concept to Roland. Granny never had; she had cared for him as her own, but he hadn't grown up knowing the words _Papa_. Or _Mama._ But he learned them now. Robin was beloved by many, but only Roland could call him _Papa_. He felt special because of it. She could see it when the villagers eagerly greeted him as his son; Roland received just as much praise, as if he too had come to better their circumstances.

Maybe one day he would.

He certainly played the knight often enough. She had no doubt he would become a fierce warrior if the men kept training him with a bow and she, with a sword— wooden, so far. And he would be honorable and just with Robin's guidance.

But would he be happy being the heir to a powerful house? Giving counsel and holding court more often than fighting battles?

She had known many leaders in her youth who wouldn't have dreamed of staying away from the battlefield, her mother included. It was considered courageous, even expected, amongst genies, but would the nobles in this land name it reckless instead? Would they advise against fighting, but still sneer at him staying safely behind walls while they lost good men?

She had seen it with Leopold, and he had been declared physically unfit to fight. How much more would they resent a young man with the ability but not the choice to take up arms?

She couldn't imagine Roland being happy sitting on the sidelines. Already, he was looking forward to being old enough to join the Merry Men on their missions. Robin dreaded it. Roland would want be a proper knight, not just a figurehead. That was, if he accepted the inheritance.

And she'd bet anything he would only accept, once he would be old enough to, granted he could be a soldier, same as the fighters under his rule. But that wouldn't happen without a change in tradition. And such a change wouldn't happen without an awful lot of bloodshed, she suspected. He'd encounter objections, maybe even rebellions.

Robin's desire to have his son be the heir to Locksley wouldn't be too difficult. But for Roland to be its lord? To rule how he deemed he should? That would require more than magic. It would require determination, resilience, and power of conviction. Change.

But, as the Prince of thieves, the famed Robin Hood, who better to guide Roland through change?

If he was willing to give Roland a life Robin himself didn't want, should Roland choose it, why couldn't she believe he would want to grant her freedom? Even if it went against what he wanted. Even if he lost her.

She hoped he was selfless enough.

She hoped he would want that for her.

She hoped.

.

.

.

The men came back just before noon with chests of gold and food from the families they'd stopped to see on the way. They would hand over the rest later in the day with Roland in their mist, or else they'd never hear the end of it. She was supposed to join them as well. She had agreed to it a few days ago when they'd started planning. Before the fight.

Robin seemed in a much better mood now than he had been in this morning. The thrill of the heist and the triumph of helping those in need did that to him. Brightened him up until it was difficult to look away. But, just like the sun, she couldn't keep her eyes on him for too long, lest they hurt. Especially when she remembered that the last time she had looked into his, _truly_ looked, without fear of what she'd find, she had only met shocked anger.

She wanted to approach him now, wanted to take that step she'd stayed away from for decades. She didn't want to part before mending their relationship. If such a thing they had. If such a thing could be nurtured. And grow.

But he was deep in conversation with Will, away from the rest of the jubilant group. She crept closer and heard them talking about a woman. An old dalliance of Will's by the sound of it.

"She changed, became someone I no longer recognized. When we were younger, she always used to say that no matter what little money she had or how disappointed her mum was in her circumstances, as long as she had me, she would be happy." More than a dalliance, then. "But I suppose havin' a taste of a comfortable life changed her mind."

"Is that really what it was?" Robin asked dubiously. "Or did she find an opportunity to rise and fight back against the misery she endured?"

"I didn't think I made her miserable," Will sulked.

"You couldn't have," Robin reassured. "But plenty of other people have tried and now, as their queen, she could finally match their punches. I'm not saying it's right, but revenge is an appetizing meal. Hard to resist."

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to do, then? Wait for her to finish whatever vengeance she has planned and then welcome her back with open arms?"

"You're supposed to not give up. To keep reminding her that she has more to live for than revenge."

How could Robin be so forgiving? He'd known horrors as well, had darkness in his past — unloving parents, the loss of a wife, of a son, guilt he still carried with him — and yet he was so ready to believe in the possibility of a better future. He still had hope. Gone was the man she'd met who seemed to have given up and stopped searching for happiness.

She moved to sit by his side, Will gladly giving up his seat to her and trying to appear uninterested in their conversation. If they even managed to have a conversation. After all, Robin was probably mad at her. But still, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"When I was younger, during the war, I watched so many people I'd grown up with die. The woman who practically raised me was gone, my mentor disappeared. My mother. I was consumed with grief."

"You once mentioned a boy you loved. Did he die as well?"

"Yes. But not on that battlefield. My mother took care of that. He wasn't a genie," and that had been his fatal flaw.

"But your father wasn't a genie either."

"My parents didn't marry for love. Or perhaps my father thought he did, I don't know. But my mother's decision was calculated. She picked a weak man, someone with a title but no real power, so that she could solely raise me to be just like her. But I wanted to give it all up. Daniel wasn't a convenience for me, but a choice. I was lucky to even be allowed to visit my father but rarely." Taking a deep breath, she admitted, "But all of that didn't matter when I watched her die."

"Death has a way of manipulating our perception. Only the good memories survive."

"No, not for me. I remember every horrible thing she ever did to me. But I also remember how we flourished under her rule, how hard she strived to make our people powerful and revered. I watched my queen die."

She closed her eyes before the images could come in as they always did. Her mother dying in her arms. But soon, it was Daniel, Daniel clutching her shoulder while her tears mixed with the blood dripping from his mouth, and before long she saw her sister walking away, her flaming hair the last thing she remembered. She was used to the images after all these years, but this was the first time since she'd lived them that she ever spoke about it aloud. That she ever trusted someone enough to tell them. She couldn't stop now, not before the most crucial detail of her story.

"You can tell me," Robin whispered.

"I couldn't just stand there and do nothing," she said as she opened her eyes. She needed to see his when she told him this. "I killed them."

"The people who attacked you? You had every right to. You were at war."

"No. No, it wasn't war. It was retaliation. It was anger for what was happening to my people directed at those who didn't deserve it. I raided villages, Robin. Families, neighbors, people who probably never even wanted us to be enslaved. Innocents. But that didn't matter at the time."

Robin brushed a tear from her cheek and asked, "What made you stop?"

She frowned, confused. By his question. By his touch. "I was trapped."

"What made you stop?" he repeated, confusing her further because she had expected anger and disgust, but certainly not this calm demeanor. "You're not trapped now, not physically restrained. Why haven't you attacked anyone now? Or for decades?"

"How do you know I haven't?"

"Because I know you. And I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid you think you have so many things to atone for and that, no matter what you do, nothing could make you be who you once were. Believe me, I understand. I used to think so too. You know who taught me to stop blaming myself? You. You told me that we can't change the past and you showed me that dwelling on it won't make it disappear. All you can do is accept it, learn from it, forgive yourself, and make up for your mistakes. And you are. Look at what you've done for me. You gave me a reason to keep fighting. You gave me my son back, my life back."

She laughed — a quiet thing, barely a whisper — as she inched closer to him, unsure of what she wanted, unsure of where to put her hands, where to look with her vision blurred. He smiled at the sound and, with his hands resting on her waist, pulled her into a hug and welcomed her tears soaking his shirt. She couldn't remember the last time someone held her tenderly, brushed their fingers through her hair, or whispered _thank you_ like they couldn't believe such generosity existed.

"Not yet," she said. He furrowed his eyebrows when she pulled back. "We still have a title to win back."

He grinned. "I wouldn't put my son's future in anybody else's hands but yours."

* * *

 **Since someone asked this; Regina keeps referring to lots of people from her past and yes, those people (most of them, those that aren't dead) will make an appearance later on in the story, I promise. Until then, thanks so much for reading and reviewing, you are all lovely :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Securing a meeting with Robin's parents had been no easy task. Their reaction being impossible to predict, Robin couldn't risk simply showing up years after his disappearance and presumed death. Regina had taken it upon herself to send a letter first, announcing his return and petitioning for a family reunion. Robin had been reluctant to allow Regina to mention Roland in the letter.

" _Won't it seem like I'm only after their money for my son's sake?"_

" _Of course it will. That's the point. They'll believe you desperate enough to reach out to them and will use that to bargain when it comes to Roland's upbringing."_

" _That's exactly what I'm afraid of," he murmured._

" _You shouldn't be. We want them to think they have the upper hand. To be so confident in your need for their help. But once they see Roland and the potential to keep the Locksley name on top, they will desire it. And once they see that they're simply an option, they'll do anything." She came closer and took both of his hands in hers. "Trust me," she implored._

 _He sighed and tilted his head slightly, looking at her in disbelief. "I do. You know I do."_

Robin's parents had made an effort not to show their curiosity in their response, but Regina saw through their intentions well enough. They were more enthusiastic to meet Roland than they were to see their son again. Regina was irritated by the fact, but not surprised.

She was well-versed in cold parenting. Or no parenting at all. She had witnessed it, if not been its victim. Still, sometimes she wished she'd been left to her own devices the way Robin had. His parents may have frowned upon his lifestyle and choice of bride, but at least both his men and Marian's lives had been spared. Regina hadn't been so lucky.

She wondered what it would have been like to have an indifferent mother rather than a controlling one. She wondered what it would have been like to have her sister's mother. Her sister had loathed Cora's carelessness, but maybe, like Robin, leaving had allowed her to find people who cared for her. Loved her. People who wouldn't abandon her like she herself had done to Regina.

(Did anyone resent Robin for leaving? Had he left anyone behind?)

She was prepared for the dreaded meeting. She had used her magic to create an elaborate, yet elegant, dress to present herself as Robin's patron, filthy rich and influential. She had dressed Robin in soft, lustrous fabrics and laces befitting his rank. Roland had the advantage of youth, which would forgive him a more simple attire. She had also transformed the Merry Men into clean and respectable soldiers and advisers of her retinue.

The illusion was crafted to perfection. She had only to hope that Robin would play along for as long as necessary. After all, it was for their son's future that they marched.

As she had anticipated, Robin's parents' manor and courtyard had been cleared of all courtiers so their arrival could be inconspicuous and their encounter kept secret in case an agreement wasn't reached. The negotiations began with stiff remarks and little compromise on his parents' side, but Regina had expected as much. They were however surprised by her appearance. No doubt, they had expected a young and foolish noble woman, head over heels for their son, and marching along to his every whim. Instead, they had been presented to an heiress who had offered her help to a strapping and handsome man, without much cost or inconvenience to her.

It seemed evident that she wasn't doing Robin's bidding, but rather that he'd put his fate into her hands. Regina had planned it that way. Robin's parents responded more promptly to her status, at least the appearance of one, than to their son and grandson's pleas. She knew well enough how people like these were to be handled; she had seen her mother do so with countless genies in the past. Strength responded to strength, and Regina outranked them.

If only they knew how.

She did most of the talking, which pleased Robin's parents greatly. Robin only intervened when there came talk of Roland's introduction as their heir.

"We cannot guarantee when it might happen before we see the boy's progress," his mother said. "He is but a child, and who knows what manner of reprehensible behaviour he might pick up from you."

"Roland will be raised in my court," Regina lied. "He will receive ever instruction that you deem necessary, I assure you."

"Well then, once the boy reaches maturity, he can return and claim his title."

"No," Robin insisted. "We give our word now that _your grandson_ will be raised to deserve the title. We need some show of good faith from you."

"Good faith? You are lucky we even agreed to this much after you humiliated us," his father shouted.

"How exactly did I do that? You were quick to fake my death."

"We had the quick thinking to do so. You, however, didn't extend that courtesy. You would have left us to explain to everyone how our only son and heir had run away to live in the woods like a peasant," his mother spit. "Ungrateful is what you've always been and I'm not sure I can have _faith_ that your son will be any different."

"Lady Locksley," Regina said, as she put her hand on Robin's arm. _Don't say a word_ , her eyes whispered. "Your son may be ungrateful, but I most certainly am not. Roland will hear what you have done for him today and I will make sure he knows his life will be all due to you."

Robin's mother was reluctant to argue further. Perhaps she also considered that Regina wouldn't remain by her son's side forever. She would grow bored soon enough and resent looking after someone else's brat.

"Very well. He will be presented when he reaches his tenth birthday."

"Ten? That's years away," Robin angrily replied.

"That's my offer," she said calmly. " _And_ , after he reaches his tenth birthday, he is to spend summers with us, cultivating relations here and at court."

Regina stepped in before Robin could refuse his mother's proposal. "That is a generous offer. I accept. As does Robin," she added turning towards him. She tried to convey to him with one look that this was better than he could have hoped for.

Reluctantly, he nodded.

.

.

.

Many a toast was made in Roland's honor and ale drunk to his good health, though he couldn't possibly understand the implications nor, Regina thought, did the men realize the role they would play in shaping their future lord. With Roland in charge, would they stop being outlaws? Did they know how to be anything other than criminals? Outcasts? They weren't from noble stock like Robin. In fact, their departure had been delayed by loud laughter and teasing directed at their intrepid leader when they saw him in tights, soft velvet, and gold lace.

It had taken much convincing on her part for Robin to agree to such garments. She'd never seen him so uncomfortable, but to appease his parents was vital to the mission and to flatter their delicate sensibilities, necessary. Had Robin marched to the gates dressed like a bandit, he'd have been turned away.

The guards, new ones since his escape, hadn't recognized him and his parents had faked just the right amount of shock at his miraculous return. With Robin's grand entrance into the manor, in front of countless nobles, with a young child clinging to him, no one could deny the lawful heir. They'd planned it so. The nobles might have turned their noses up at Robin, who, all evidence pointed, had been rescued from his accident and raised in the woods by gods knew whom, but his son, who they had reason to believe would receive his grand parents' attention, his son could be a remarkable lord indeed.

The nobles were placated by Roland's quiet and polite demeanor and Robin's parents had received assurances that his son would be taught all that was expected of one of their class and standing. After all, Robin may have turned his back on them, but there was no denying that their teachings had been numerous and not so easily forgotten. They had been pleased at that.

As they had been at meeting Regina, a princess from a faraway land with riches in abundance and the luxury of a youthful affair with a poor woodsman for no other inducements than fleeting love. Her manners and haughtiness, the likes of which would have made Cora proud, had spoken of her royal blood. Robin's parents' suspicions had been quieted when they had observed how Roland hung on her every word.

Who better to raise their grandson than a future sovereign? A sovereign with misguided affections towards their son, perhaps, but who at least had the good sense not to marry him. They were satisfied.

Roland's education would be taken care of with no great exertion on their part. They were certain Robin wouldn't interfere in Roland's grooming if the lovesick way in which he kept glancing at the princess was any indication. Robin's parents didn't at all mind trespassing on Regina's generosity. Her feelings for Robin would vanish in time and he would go back to being a nobody, but Roland will have already gained knowledge and poise that Robin surely couldn't teach him.

Their whole party left after lengthy discussions and an agreement that Roland, once he reached his tenth year, wouldn't be properly presented at court until his grandparents deemed him ready first. That meant lessons upon lessons ranging from table manners to military tactics.

Regina had assisted enough battle preparations during the war, with Cora and her second-in-command, Emma's mother, to learn plenty about strategy. Of course, back then, the general's ice magic combined with Cora's proclivity for fire gave them an unfair advantage (and so it had been, before the gods meddled in affairs they shouldn't have and sided with the weaker side, the one less threatening). Her own magic couldn't help them now, as Regina well knew Roland wouldn't have access to it forever.

The wish wouldn't be complete until Robin's parents named Roland as their heir. Officially. They still had years of preparation until he would be ready to be presented to the people. Years until Robin's final wish. What then? She dreaded the thought.

But she knew Robin could teach Roland, maybe not as well as she, but decently enough. He must have learned how to behave among nobility for almost two decades. And he certainly knew the landscape of Locksley, and beyond, better than she did. He had tracking skills and a mind for deception, disinclined though he was to use it — _dishonorable_ , he would say. Ironic for a thief — which would make him invaluable to Roland, despite what his parents thought.

Robin may have shied away from the life his parents had wanted him to pursue, but he was a born leader, a fair leader. A leader who didn't want the most coveted seat at the table and who was more than willing to hand over the reins to someone worthier, which made him all the more deserving of the title.

(Would she have been a worthy ruler? Had she been given the chance?)

As the day was winding down, the men kept their high spirits. Musical instruments were taken out and dances cried for. Roland was already jumping around when Robin, after a well-deserved wardrobe change, claimed a seat beside her.

"Why aren't you celebrating?" she asked.

"Ten," he said. "That's too many years away."

"I don't understand. I thought you wanted time with Roland. That you didn't want your parents' influence. A few summers before he is of age is nothing compared to what you feared."

"I know. But," he sighed before looking at her, "it's years that you have no choice but to remain here."

She couldn't respond. He had been thinking of her?

"But I'm not ungrateful," he added. "It's a better outcome than I imagined. Thank you."

"I didn't do much," she said, still unable to meet his eyes.

"Still more than you know. I'm glad Roland will have you to show him the grace of nobility," he said with only slight teasing.

"You may regret that statement."

Before he could ask, she requested a waltz be played. Tuck stroked his mandolin. Robin groaned.

"Your parents will expect exemplary court etiquette," she pointed out.

"I was never a role model for such things," he responded.

"Luckily, I was. Lesson one, Sir Roland," she said, calling out the boy who promptly came to her side, "dancing. Political alliances in quiet council chambers are boring; the best deals are made over lively music and champagne filled bellies. May I have this dance, my lord?"

"Certainly, m'lady," Roland said, bowing a little too low.

Regina took his extended hand and showed him the proper posture. "One slow step forward, then two quick ones. Turn, and begin again. Like so, one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three."

Garland joined in with his flute, surprisingly following the steps along.

"You'll make a posh gentleman out of him yet," Robin said after three dances and the improvement of Roland's skills.

"And you?" she asked Robin. "When your son throws elegant balls, will you embarrass him and hide in a corner or make an attempt on the dance floor and risk even further embarrassment?"

"I am an exceedingly gifted dancer. I will have you know that I've always been an excellent, albeit reluctant, student."

"Is that so? Care to demonstrate?" she challenged, standing in the middle of their makeshift dance floor in the middle of the camp, surrounded by the men hollering and Roland eagerly clapping.

"I'd like nothing more, your majesty," he bowed and kissed her hand. She rolled her eyes.

He came towards her and pulled her into the dance, one hand on her waist, the other on her shoulder, and his fingers playing with her hair.

The waltz slowed to a soothing melody. It reminded her of one of those romantic ones Daniel used to hum to her when they'd needed to be quiet, dreaming that one day they would dance like this in their own home away from prying eyes. That future she'd imagined never came to be and she'd stopped believing she could ever want it again. But now, swaying in Robin's arms, his hands on her hips and his neck a tantalizing breath away, she wouldn't be anywhere else.

The song began to crescendo and his arms linked behind her back to lift her up effortlessly. Her feet bumped gently against his legs and her eyes could see the top of his head, though not for long, as he glanced up and kept his eyes firmly on hers. His gaze was too full of words ready to burst, words she'd lose herself in, that she couldn't stop herself from resting her forehead against his as she came back down and basking in the scent of sandalwood and smoke. He smelled like the forest he called home, yet she would know him anywhere even among the trees. He smelled like the rain-soaked earth, warm, yet invigorating, like grass and late summer apricots, and just a hint of whiskey. A smell so divine, to taste it would be to never desire anything else.

"You were right. You're a marvellous dancer," she said as they began a second, slower dance.

"So I've been told." She huffed at this display of modesty. "But now I'm sure it must be so. I couldn't imagine you lying about it to spare my feelings."

"Not a chance," she agreed. "Although I suppose you should get used to insincere praise now you're re-entering the sophisticated world of the gentility."

"Don't remind me. At least I know my friends won't inflate my ego just because of my bloody name." He threw his head back in annoyance at the idea that this wouldn't apply to his other acquaintances. But his eyes were calm and his smile back when he looked at her again. "And neither will you."

Regina stayed silent a moment, contemplating his words.

"Aren't we? Friends?" she asked.

"We can be anything you want us to be, milady," he whispered with such longing the likes of which she hadn't heard in the time she'd know him. Would that she may hear it again. "Is that what you want?"

What did she want? _Oh Gods_ , Regina wasn't sure she had ever allowed to ask herself that question. It had never been about her wants, her desires. No, she had been brought up to put those aside. _Never think of yourself_ , her mother would say. All she had known was a life of servitude, of duty; first to her kingdom and her people, then to her masters. But it didn't feel that way now. Being around Robin, she felt more like… a partner, rather than a slave. An equal. A _friend_. Yes, she liked that word.

(But what did she want?)

"It's more than I could ask for," Robin reassured before she could give an answer.

A small smile curved up Regina's lips. _What did she want?_

The dance was soon over. Too soon. The men were clapping their hands and moving away to refill their mugs. Robin and Regina still had their arms around each other and kept swaying to the rustling of the leaves rather than the music. Robin looked away for a moment, long enough to see Roland sitting beside Will and enjoying a riveting tale.

"The music stopped," Regina said when he looked at her once more.

"Indeed," he nodded.

"We should stop dancing."

"We should."

"Remove your hands then," she suggested coyly with one raised eyebrow.

Robin did. But instead of joining his crew, he asked, "Perhaps I could persuade you to a walk in the moonlight?"

"Perhaps," Regina smiled.

As Robin grinned, he led her deeper into the forest and beyond the tents and murmurs of their companions. They walked leisurely, no words needed between them when their hands met of their own accord and acknowledged all that needed to be said.

"Thank you," Robin said, breaking the silence, "for being patient with Roland. I expect he'll be looking forward to his lessons if you're his instructor."

"Yes," Regina sighed. But for how long?

"I'm sorry," he said surprisingly. "I know you must look forward to being released."

"Look forward to going back inside the lamp? To serve another master? No." Then, with far more courage than she expected, she confessed, "I'd rather be here than with anyone else."

"But it isn't your first choice."

"I haven't had the luxury of choice in a very long time. Not when it comes to the future, _my_ future, any kind of future that I could want." She hadn't had the opportunity to know what she truly wanted for centuries. She wasn't certain of anything. Except maybe one thing. "But some things I can still decide for myself," she whispered as she rose on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his.

Shock at her own actions quickly evaporated when she felt Robin's lips respond to her touch. Her hands moved up his arms, exploring the muscles she'd imagined at night, while his fingers trailed through her hair. But she still longed for more; she hadn't had this since before the war, since before she became a woman disillusioned with the world.

Back when she had met Daniel, they had both been so eager to fall in love and lose themselves to one another, so innocent and blind to the trials that awaited them. They had only sought an escape.

With Robin, it was different. Robin wasn't a reckless infatuation. Robin wasn't innocent. She hadn't wanted to fall for him. She certainly hadn't encouraged him to fall for her. But they had been undeniable.

Robin tugged at her hair when her hands slid down to his lower back and further. That prompted his tongue to taste her bottom lip and plead for entrance, which she was most willing to grant. They explored in every way possible: tongues over teeth, hands on waists and more daring still, and lips on necks. Regina spared a thought to the camp and prayed the gods they'd walked far enough for their moans not to be heard.

"Regina," Robin gasped, "we should stop."

"Why?" she asked, the sound muffled when spoken against his jaw.

"Because, _mmm_ ,I have to get back for my son's bedtime."

"Oh." She stopped kissing him.

"And I'd really like to take my time," he murmured against her lips.

"Oh?" He grinned cheekily before biting her lip. "Perhaps you can show me later tonight," she rasped once they pulled apart.

"Perhaps."

* * *

They laid in bed, their fingers and legs entwined, after hours of languorous kisses and whispered affections. In no rush for anything more.

"Regina?" he tentatively asked, kissing her bare shoulder, where her garment had slid down in their yearning to touch as much skin as propriety would allow.

"Hmm."

"You refused to answer me once before, but please reconsider. What would it take for you to no longer have to do a master's bidding?"

She pulled away from him, her hair cascading down the length of her face and arm, shielding her features from his inquiring gaze.

"You can trust me," he pleaded. "I would not hurt you."

"I've heard that before," she mumbled, still too far away, still hidden.

"Not from me."

She turned her heard long enough for him to see a single tear slide down her cheek. "I've known masters who have pledged their love to me. Swore to free me only to change their minds once they set their eyes on a different prize."

"Free you how?" he asked again.

"Only a master has the power to free me," she said, punctuating every word as if the answer should have been obvious. Whatever it was, he was willing to give it to her.

"Then, I will."

"Robin… you can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you have to wish it."

"I do wish it," he said emphatically. "I will." He never wanted the damned wishes in the first place. He would give up the last one without a second thought.

"You won't," she insisted.

"I'd wish it now if I could. If I'd known, I would have wished it when we first met and found another way to give Roland his inheritance."

"You couldn't have. Your son's future is what you want most. My magic was only able to make your wishes come true because they were what your heart truly desired when you made them. Those few who tried to wish for my freedom weren't able to call upon my magic to do it. It wasn't what they wanted. Not really. Just like it isn't what you want." She put her hand on his chest when he hurried closer ready to deny it. "What you desire most is me."

"What I desire most is for you to choose me," he said as he took her hand from where it still touched his skin and held it in both of his. "To no longer be tied to that blasted lamp and all it entails, to be able to do and be whoever the damn hell you please." He kissed her hand. "And still want to be with me. Just as I want to be with you."

"I—"

"Please, believe me," he implored.

She allowed him to come closer and lay his forehead on her shoulder, his hands around on her waist. He wanted her more than he thought possible. He wanted her to want him back.

"I do," she said. "Believe you."

He felt her hands in his hair, gently pulling his head up and his mouth on hers. The kiss began as frenzied and wet, but eventually turned soft. They had time.

"Since it looks like you're going to be staying with us for longer than anticipated, the least I could do is allow you to decide what comes next for you," Robin said.

"Seems like a fair trade," she said lightly, though he could see her eyes ablaze with the possibilities.

He shook his head, putting his hand on her flushed cheek. "On the contrary."


End file.
